mm.Ji 


THE    WATCHERS    OF    THE    PLAINS 


His  Eyes  were  intent  upon   the   Dark   Horizoa 


^^ 


The  Watchers  of 
The  Plains 


A  Tale  of  the  Western   Prairies 


By  RIDGWELL  CULLUM 


With  Frontispiece 
By  J.  C.  LEYENDECKER 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
Publishers  New  York 


Copyright,  1909,  hr 

Gbcrge-W.  Jacobs  and  Compant 
Pubiijhed  Marcht  -ipo^ 


To 

B.   W.  M. 

my  good  friend  and  cmmselffy 

J  affectionately  dedicate 

this   book 


CONTENTS 


I. 

A  LriTEB        .... 

4 

>                   • 

•       9 

II. 

On  the  Plains         .          .         •         < 

.               17 

III. 

An  Alarm  in  P«acon  Crossing 

28 

IV. 

Rosebud           .... 

41 

V. 

A  Birthday  Gift    .          .          .          , 

54 

VI. 

A  Newspaper            .          .          .         , 

69 

VII. 

An  Indian  Pow-Wow      .          .          , 

76 

VIII. 

Seth  Washes  a  Handkerchief  . 

87 

IX. 

The  Adventures  of  Red  Riding  Hood 

97 

X. 

Seth  Attempts  to  Write  a  Letter 

108 

XI. 

The  Letter  Written 

118 

XII. 

Cross  Purposes         .... 

127 

XIII. 

The  Devotion  of  Wanaha        .          , 

»35 

XIV. 

The  Warning          .... 

.     144 

XV. 

The  Movements  of  Little  Black  Fox 

'     »54 

XVI. 

General  Distinguishes  Himself 

162 

XVII. 

The  Letter  from  England 

•     173 

XVIII. 

Seth's  Duty  Accomplished 

.     184 

XIX. 

Seth  Plays  a  Strong  Hand 

.     197 

XX. 

Seth  Pays 

,     207 

XXI. 

Two  Heads  in  Conspiracy 

.     217 

XXII. 

Rosebud's  Answer  . 

.     227 

XXIII. 

Love's  Progress       .         ,         , 

, 

• 

.     239 

CONTENTS 


XXIV.  Rosebud's  Fortune 

XXV.  In    Which    the    Undercurrent   Belies 

Superficial  Calm 

XXVI.  The  Sun-Dance    . 

XXVII.  In  Desperate  Plight     . 

XXVIII.  A  Last  Adventure 

XXIX.  Hard  Pressed 

XXX.  The  Last  Stand  . 

XXXI.  The  Sentence 

XXXII.  Wanaha  the  Indian      •         • 

XXXIII.  The  Capitulation         •         • 


the 


*54 

267 
283 
294 
304 
3'> 

337 
34^ 
359 


THE  WATCHERS  OF 
THE  PLAINS 


CHAPTER  I 

A   LETTER 

A  SOLITARY  hut,  dismal,  rectangular,  stands  on 
the  north  bank  of  the  White  River.  Decay  has  long 
been  at  work  upon  it,  yet  it  is  still  weather-proof.  It 
was  built  long  before  planks  were  used  in  the  Bad 
Lands  of  Dakota.  It  was  built  by  hands  that  aimed 
only  at  strength  and  durability,  caring  nothing  for 
appearances.  Thus  it  has  survived  where  a  lighter 
construction  must  long  since  have  been  demolished. 

And  it  still  affords  habitation  for  man.  The  win- 
dows have  no  glass  ;  the  door  is  a  crazy  affair  ;  there  is 
an  unevenness  in  the  setting  of  the  lateral  logs  which 
compose  its  walls ;  the  reed  thatching  has  been 
patched  where  the  weather  has  rotted  it ;  and  here 
and  there  small  spreads  of  tarpaulin  lend  their  aid  in 
keeping  out  the  snows  of  winter  and  the  storms  of 
summer.  It  occupies  its  place,  a  queer,  squat  sentry, 
standing  midway  between  the  cattle  ford  and  the 
newer  log  wagon-bridge  lower  down  the  river  toward 
its  mouth,  where  it  joins  the  giant  Missouri  some  two 


10        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

hundred  miles  distant.  It  backs  into  the  brush  iring"- 
ing  the  wood-lined  river  bank,  and  is  dangerously 
sheltered  from  the  two  great  Indian  Reservations  on 
the  other  side  of  the  river.  Dangerously,  because  it 
is  at  all  times  dangerous  to  live  adjacent  to  woods 
when  so  near  such  a  restless  race  as  the  Indians  on 
the  Rosebud  and  the  Pine  Ridge  Reservations.  Still, 
it  has  stood  there  so  long,  and  yet  bears  no  sign  of 
hostile  action  directed  against  it  by  the  warlike  Sioux, 
that  it  seems  safe  to  reckon  it  will  continue  to  stand 
there  in  peace  until  decay  finishes  it  off.  And  the 
fact  is  significant. 

Those  who  lived  in  that  hut  must  have  had  reason 
to  know  that  they  dwelt  there  in  safety. 

The  present  tenant  of  the  hut  is  a  white  man.  He 
is  seated  on  the  tread  of  his  crazy  doorway,  holding 
an  open  letter  in  one  hand,  while  he  stares  in  an  un- 
pleasantly reflective  manner  out  across  the  prairie  in 
front  of  him. 

And  the  letter,  which  is  slowly  crumpling  under 
the  clutch  of  his  nervous  fingers,  is  worthy  of  atten- 
tion, for  it  is  written  on  crested  paper  which  is  blue. 
And  the  ink  is  blue,  too,  and  might  reasonably  in- 
dicate the  tone  of  the  blood  of  the  sender,  though 
hardly  of  the  recipient. 

Still  appearances  are  deceptive  on  the  prairie  with 
regard  to  human  beings,  even  more  so  perhaps  than 
elsewhere.  This  man  has  a  something  about  him 
which  speaks  of  a  different  life — a  life  where  people 
live  m  greater  ease  and  more  refined  surroundings 


A  LETTER  li 

But  even  so,  his  face  is  ver}^  mean  and  narrow,  an 
appearance  in  nowise  improved  by  its  weather-stained, 
unwashed  condition. 

Nevil  Steyne — for  that  is  the  man's  name — has 
read  the  letter,  and  now  he  is  thinking  about  it. 
And  as  he  thinks,  and  mentally  digests  that  which  a 
right-minded  man  would  accept  as  its  overwhelm- 
ingly kindly  tone,  his  anger  rises  slowly  at  first,  but 
ever  higher  and  higher,  till  it  culminates  in  a  bitter, 
muttered  exclamation. 

"  The  crawler  !  "  he  said  under  his  breath. 

Suddenly  he  looked  down  at  the  paper,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  straighten  it  out.  And  his  pale  blue  eyes 
were  glittering  as  he  read  the  letter  again  from  be- 
ginning to  end.  The  very  crest  at  the  top  was  an 
aggravation  to  him.  And  he  conjured  meaning  be- 
tween the  lines  as  he  went,  where  meaning  lay  only 
in  what  was  written. 

The  heading  bore  a  date  at  New  York.  It  had 
been  written  on  the  second  of  June — ten  days  earlier. 
And  it  was  a  letter  that  should  have  put  joy  into  his 
heart,  rather  than  have  raised  his  anger  and  hatred. 

*'My  dear  Brother  (it  ran) — 

*'  It  is  possible  that  a  letter  from  me  may  not 
be  as  welcome  as  I  try  to  hope.  I  can  only  trust 
that  your  resentment  against  me  has  abated  in  these 
long  twelve  years  since  you  cut  yourself  out  of  my 
life.  I  know  you  blamed  me  for  what  happened  at 
our  father's  death.  You  said  nothing,  would  not  see 
me,  or   the   whole   thing  could   have   been  adjusted 


12        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

then.  You  went  off  believing  what  was  not  true. 
Whether  father  treated  you  justly  or  unjustly  you 
are  the  best  judge.  From  my  point  of  view  it  was 
the  latter.  It  was  always  a  mystery-  to  me  that  he 
cut  you  out  of  his  will.  I  was  as  disappointed  as 
you,  and  it  is  for  that  reason  that,  for  twelve  years,  I 
have  been  seeking  you,  to  restore  to  you  your  share 
of  the  property.  My  dear  boy,  I'm  sure  you  cannot 
imagine  what  joy  it  is  to  me  that  at  last  I  am  able  to 
write  this,  that  at  last  I  shall  be  able  to  say  it  to  you. 
We  both  know  what  a  martinet  father  was,  and  what 
a  disappointment  it  was  to  him  when  you  refused  to 
adopt  the  army  and  join  me  in  following  in  the  old 
boy's  footsteps,  but,  unless  there  was  something  else 
between  you,  that  was  insufficient  reason  for  the  in- 
justice of  his  will. 

"  Well,  all  that  is  past  now.  What  I  have  set  aside 
as  your  share  is  untouched,  and  has  been  accumu- 
lating all  these  years.  It  is  waiting  for  you.  If  you 
refuse  it,  I  shall  never  touch  it.  In  that  case  it  re- 
mains tied  up  for  my  little  daughter,  at  such  time  as 
she  shall  marry.  But  of  course  I  have  done  this 
only  as  an  emergency.  You  will  not,  I  know,  re- 
fuse it. 

"  Thank  God,  I  have  found  you  at  last,  dear  old 
boy !  Now,  listen  !  I  have  set  my  plans  with  great 
care,  and  hope  you  will  appreciate  them.  I  do  not 
want  to  subject  you  to  any  curiosity  among  our 
friends — you  know  how  inquisitive  people  are — so  I 
have  come  out  here  ostensibly  on  a  big  game  shoot 
in  the  Rockies.  Alice,  my  wife — you  remember 
Alice  Travers — and  little  Marjorie,  our  daughter,  are 
with  me.  They  know  nothing  of  my  secret.  We 
shall  break  our  journey  at  Sioux  City,  and  then  come 
across  to  you  by  road.     And,  lo  !  when  we  arrive  my 


A  LETTER  13 

Uttle   surprise   for   them — Marjorie   finds   an  uncle, 
Alice  a  brother. 

"  In  conclusion,  I  hope  to  be  with  you  on  the  i6th 
at  latest ;  we  shall  come  by  way  of  the  south  bank 
oi  the  Missouri  River,  then  across  the  Pine  Ridge 
Reservation,  and  so  on  to  Beacon  Crossing.  I  hope 
to  lind  you  as  young  in  spirit  as  ever.  I  have  many 
gray  hairs,  but  no  matter,  so  long  as  I  find  you  well 
I  shall  be  more  than  satisfied.     Au  revoir. 

"  Your  affectionate 
"  Landor." 


"^«  revoir^''  muttered  the  man,  as  he  viciously 
tore  the  letter  into  the  minutest  fragments,  and  ground 
them  into  the  hard  earth  with  a  ruthless  heel.  "  Au 
revoir ^^  he  said  again,  and  louder.  Then  he  laughed. 
•'  But  we  haven't  met  yet  Why  should  I  take  a  share 
when  you  and  your  wife,  and  your  brat  are  the  only 
people  who  stand  between  me  and  the  lot?" 

And  after  that  he  relapsed  into  silence,  and  his 
thoughts  flew  on  apace.  The  unwashed  face  grew 
meaner  and  more  brooding,  the  fair  brows  drew 
closer  over  the  large  blue  eyes,  the  jaws  were  shut 
as  tight  as  they  well  could  be,  for  he  was  painfully 
overshot,  and  his  chin  was  almost  hidden,  so  far  re- 
ceding was  it  under  the  long,  drooping,  tobacco- 
stained  moustache. 

That  letter,  it  would  seem,  required  no  depth  of 
thought,  unless  it  were  the  happy  thought  that  he 
possessed  such  a  brother.  It  seemed  to  be  a  moment 
for  nothing  but  happiness.     And  in  such  a  man  one 


14         THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

might  reasonably  have  expected  to  see  him  mount 
the  horse  tethered  a  few  yards  away  in  front  of  the 
hut,  and  ride  into  Beacon  Crossing,  where  he  could 
tell  his  associates  of  his  good  fortune,  and  celebrate 
it  in  the  usual  manner. 

But  there  was  nothing  of  happiness  in  the  face 
that  stared  so  steadily  out  at  the  hazy  sky-line  in  the 
direction  of  the  Cheyenne  Reservation  away  to  the 
north.  There  was  a  hard  look,  such  as  is  to  be  seen 
only  in  pale  blue  eyes  ; — a  look  of  unyielding  hatred 
and  obstinacy  ;  a  look  which,  combined  with  the  evi- 
dent weakness  of  character  displayed  in  his  features, 
suggested  rather  the  subde  treachery  of  a  coward 
than  the  fierce  resentment  of  a  brave  man. 

Never  was  a  character  more  fully  laid  bare  than 
was  his  at  that  moment.  He  was  conscious  of  his 
isolation.  There  was  no  one  to  see.  He  hated  his 
brother  as  a  weak  nature  hates  a  strong.  He  hated 
him  because  years  ago  he,  Nevil,  had  refused  to  go 
into  the  army  for  the  reason  of  an  obstinate  cow- 
ardice, while  his  younger  brother  gladly  embraced 
the  profession  of  which  their  father,  the  stern  old 
general,  had  been  such  an  honored  member.  And 
so  he  had  eschewed  his  mother  country,  leaving 
England,  when  he  had  been  disinherited,  for  the  wil- 
derness of  South  Dakota,  and  had  become  one  of 
those  stormy  petrels  which,  in  those  days,  were  ever 
to  be  found  hovering  about  the  territor}'-  set  apart 
for  the  resdess  Indians.  Yes,  and  with  his  destruc- 
tion of  that  kindly,  simple  letter  his  resolve  had  been 


A  LETTER  15 

taken.  He  would  have  nothing  at  the  hands  of  the 
man  who  had  ousted  him. 

It  was  not  thoughts  of  his  resolve  that  gave  his 
face  its  look  of  treacherous  cunning  now,  but  some- 
thing else.  Something  which  kept  him  sitting  on 
his  door-step  thinking,  thinking,  until  the  sun  had  set 
and  the  twilight  darkened  into  night.  Something 
which,  during  that  time,  brought  cruel  smiles  to  his 
lips,  and  made  him  glance  round  on  either  side  at 
the  brush  that  marked  the  boundary  of  the  Sioux 
camping  ground. 

Something  which  at  last  made  him  rise  from  his 
hard  seat  and  fetch  out  his  saddle  from  within  the 
hut.  Then  he  brought  his  horse  in  from  its  tether- 
ing ground,  and  saddled  it,  and  rode  ofif  down  to  the 
ford,  and  on  to  the  tepee  of  old  Big  Wolf,  the  great 
chief,  the  master  mind  that  planned  and  carried  out 
all  the  bloody  atrocities  of  the  Pine  Ridge  Indian 
risings. 

"  Ah  revoir,  eh  ?  "  this  tall  renegade  muttered,  as 
he  dismounted  before  the  smoke-begrimed  dwelling. 
"  There's  only  we  too,  Landor  ;  and  your  precious 
wife  and  child,  and  they  are — no,  we  haven't  met 
yet."  And  he  became  silent  as  he  raised  the  hide 
door  of  the  tep>ee,  and,  without  announcing  himself, 
stepped  within. 

The  dark,  evil-smelling  interior  was  lit  only  by 
the  smouldering  embers  of  a  small  wood-fire  in  the 
centre  of  the  great  circle.  Though  it  was  summer 
these  red  heritors  of  the  land  could  not  do  without 


i6        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

their  fire  at  night-time,  any  more  than  they  could 
do  without  their  skins  and  frowsy  blankets.  Nevil 
Steyne  glanced  swiftly  over  the  dimly  outlined  faces 
he  saw  looming  in  the  shadows.  The  scene  was  a 
familiar  one  to  him,  and  each  face  he  beheld  was 
familiar  The  puffy,  broad  face  of  the  great  chief, 
the  fierce,  aquiline  features  of  the  stripling  who  was 
sitting  beside  him,  and  who  was  Big  Wolfs  fifteen- 
year-old  son,  and  the  dusky,  delicate,  high-caste 
features  of  the  old  man's  lovely  daughter,  Wanaha. 

He  saw  all  these  and  entered  in  silence,  leaving 
his  well-trained  horse  to  its  own  devices  outside.  He 
closed  up  the  doorway  behind  him,  and  squatted 
upon  his  haunches  in  their  midst. 

Big  Wolf  removed  the  long-stemmed,  red-clay 
pipe  from  his  lips  and  held  it  out  to  the  newcomer. 
The  newcomer  took  it  while  the  other  said  '*  How," 
And  all  those  about  him  followed  suit  and  welcomed 
the  white  man  in  chorus  with  this  customary 
greeting. 

Then  a  conversation  started  which  lasted  far  into 
the  night.  It  entailed  much  subtle  argument  on  the 
part  of  the  visitor,  and  the  introduction  of  many 
dusky  warriors  into  the  tepee,  who  also  smoked  the 
pipe  in  council,  with  many  deliberate  grunts  of  ap- 
proval at  the  words  of  wisdom  the  white  adviser 
spoke. 

And  all  this  was  the  result  of  that  crested  letter. 


CHAPTER  II 

ON   THE   PLAINS 

There  is  no  place  in  the  world  which  affords 
more  cheerful  solitude  than  the  prairie.  One  may 
be  miles  and  miles  away  from  human  habitation  and 
yet  there  is  an  exhilaration  in  the  very  sunlight,  in 
the  long  nodding  grass,  in  the  dusty  eddies  of  the 
breeze  which  is  never  actually  still  on  the  plains.  It 
is  the  suggestion  of  freedom  in  a  great  boundless 
space.  It  grips  the  heart,  and  one  thanks  God  for 
life.  This  effect  is  not  only  with  the  prairie  novice. 
It  lasts  for  all  time  with  those  who  once  snifi  the 
scent  of  its  delicious  breath. 

Dakota  and  the  more  southern  Nebraska  are  not 
the  finest  examples  of  the  American  plains,  but  they 
will  do.  What  is  better  they  will  make  one  ask  for 
more,  and  that  is  an  excellent  sign. 

It  is  curious  to  gaze  out  over  this  wonderful  virgin 
grass-land  and  seek  for  signs  of  other  human  beings. 
Not  a  speck  in  view,  except  perchance  a  grazing 
steer  or  horse.  Not  a  movement  but  the  eddving 
whirls  of  dust,  and  the  nodding  of  the  bowing  grass 
heads  as  they  bend  to  the  gentle  pressure  of  the 
lightest  of  zephvrs.  And  yet  no  doubt  there  are 
human  beings  about  ;  aye,  even  within  half  a  mile 


i8        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

For  flat  as  those  plains  may  seem  they  are  really  great 
billows  rolling  away  on  every  hand  into  the  dim  dis- 
tance, hiding  men  and  cattle  and  houses  in  their 
vast,  open  troughs. 

A  little  party  of  six  had  just  appeared  over  the 
brow  of  a  rising,  which  was  the  last  great  wave 
toppling  monstrously  down  toward  that  great  ex- 
panse of  the  shallow  valley,  in  the  midst  of  which 
flows  the  Missouri.  This  tiny  party,  so  meagre  and 
insufificient-iooking  as  they  faced  the  sun-bound 
plains,  had  just  left  the  river  route  to  strike  in  a 
more  westerly  direction.  As  they  topped  the  rise 
a  great,  wholesome  love  for  the  wide  world  about 
them  welled  up  in  the  heart  of  the  woman  who  was 
riding  in  the  wagon,  and  found  vent  in  a  low,  thrill- 
ing exclamation. 

"  Wonderful  1 "  Then  louder  and  with  eyes  spark- 
ling: "Beautiful!" 

A  child  of  about  eleven  summers,  with  fair  curling 
ringlets  flowing  loosely  beneath  a  wide,  flat  sun-hat, 
whose  wide-open  violet  eyes  stared  a  little  awe-struck 
at  the  vast  world  which  greeted  them,  nestied  closer 
to  the  woman's  side  on  the  seat  of  the  jolting  wagon 
without  comment,  but  with  a  sharp  little  intake  of 
breath.     She  had  no  words  to  add  to  her  mother's. 

At  that  moment  one  of  three  men  riding  ahead 
detached  himself  from  the  others  and  dropped  back 
to  the  wagon,  to  speak  to  the  woman  and  child.  It 
was  easy  to  understand  the  relationship  between 
them   by  the  affectionate  smile  that  greeted   him 


ON  THE  PLAINS  19 

He  was  a  tall  man  and  much  tanned  by  a  life  spent 
largely  in  military  camps  in  hot  countries.  He  had 
the  well-set-up  figure  of  a  fighting  soldier. 

"  Well,  dearie,"  he  said  cheerfully  to  his  wife,  "  how 
do  you  like  the  prairie  ?  " 

The  woman  nodded. 

"  I'm  so  glad  we  came  on  by  road,  Landor.  The 
hotel  people  were  quite  bothersome  about  the  rest- 
lessness of  the  Indians.  I  suppose  that  is  a  bogey 
they  thrust  before  all  strangers^  I  am  glad  you  did 
not  change  your  mind." 

The  man  understood  his  wife's  strong  character, 
and  her  reply  made  him  feel  as  though  his  respon- 
sibilities had  been  suddenly  increased.  He  looked 
at  his  companions  riding  in  scout  fashion  in  front. 
They  were  pointing  at  something  on  the  horizon, 
and  he  followed  the  direction  indicated. 

At  last  he  looked  round  and  encountered  the 
gaze  of  his  wife's  gray  eyes. 

"  I  thought  you  would  be,  Al,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  You  see  the  Indians  are  always  restless.  Besides, 
ii  I " 

"Yes." 

The  man  laughed  happily. 

"  No,  not  yet,  dear.  My  secret  must  remain  a  little 
longe..  You  are  a  wonder,  Al.  You  have  known 
tl^.at  I  have  a  secret  for  nearly  two  months,  and  still 
you  refrain  from  questioning  me." 

Alice  shook  her  head,  and  stooped  to  readjust 
their  daughter's  hat.     Her  action  hid  the  smile  at 


20        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

her  husband's  simplicity.  A  good  wife  learns  many 
things  without  questioning. 

"You  see  1  know  I  shall  be  told  when  it  becomes 
expedient.  How  would  you  like  tu  make  hay  in 
these  lovely  open  fields,  Marjorie  ?"  she  asked  the 
violet-eyed  child,  gazing  so  steadfastly  at  this  new 
world  about  her. 

But  Marjorie  shook  her  head.  She  was  a  little 
overpowered, 

"  It's  so  big,  mamma,"  she  murmured,  doubt- 
fully. 

At  that  moment  one  of  the  two  horsemen  ahead 
beckoned  to  the  man  a  little  f>eremptorily,  and  he 
rode  ofl.     Then  the  child  turned  to  her  mother. 

"What  did  you  mean  about  the  Indians, 
mamma  ?  " 

But  the  mother  did  not  answer ;  she  was  watching 
her  husband,  who  had  just  joined  the  others,  and  she 
saw  that  all  three  were  watching  something  that 
looked  like  smoke  on  the  northwestern  horizon. 

"Don't  Indians  eat  people,  mamma?"  asked  the 
child  presently. 

Her  mother  laughed  shortly,  and  answered,  "  No." 
The  answer  came  a  little  more  sharply  than  she 
usually  spoke.  Suddenly  she  leant  forward  and 
touched  the  driver  on  the  shoulder.  He  turned 
round  instantly. 

"  What  is  that  smoke  on  the  horizon,  Jim  ?  "  she 
asked. 

The  man  looked  into  her  steady  gray  eyes.     Then 


ON  THE  PLAINS  2i 

he  glanced  down  at  the  beautiful  child  at  her  side, 
and,  in  a  moment,  his  gaze  came  back  to  the  hand- 
some dark  face  of  the  mother ;  but  instandy  he  turned 
back  to  the  horses. 

•'Don't  know,"  he  threw  back  brusquely  over  his 
shoulder. 

And  the  woman  who  learned  so  much  without 
asking  questions  knew  that  he  lied. 

The  vehicle  creaked  on.  The  steady  jog  of  the 
horses  kept  the  neck-yoke  rattling  in  the  harness 
with  a  sound  that  was  almost  musical.  The  sun  was 
very  hot,  and  the  sweat  was  caked  in  white  streaks 
all  over  the  hard-working  animals'  flanks.  Mother 
and  child  sat  on  in  silence.  Those  two  pairs  of  lovely 
eyes  were  looking  out  ahead.  The  child  interested, 
and  the  mother  thinking  hard  and  swiftly.  Curiously 
that  smoke  on  the  horizon  had  set  her  thinking  of 
her  husband  and  child,  but  mostly  of  the  child.  The 
driver  chirruped  at  his  horses  as  he  had  done  from 
the  start  He  munched  his  tobacco,  and  seemed 
quite  at  his  ease.  Only  every  now  and  then  his 
keen  eyes  lifted  to  the  smoke.  He  was  an  old 
prairie  hand. 

The  horsemen  on  ahead  had  halted  where  a  higher 
billow  of  grass-land  than  usual  had  left  a  sharp,  deep 
hollow.  A  hundred  yards  to  the  right  of  the  trail 
there  was  a  small  clump  of  undergrowth.  The  men 
had  dismounted.  When  the  wagon  came  up  the 
husband  stepped  to  its  side. 

"We    are    going    to    camp    here,  Alice,"  he  said 


22        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

quietly.  *'  There  is  good  water  close  by.  We  can 
spare  the  time  ;  we  have  come  along  well." 

Alice  glanced  at  the  faces  of  the  others  while  he 
was  speaking.  One  of  the  men  was  a  long-haired 
prairie  scout ;  his  keen  black  eyes  were  intent  upon 
her  face.  The  other  was  a  military  "  batman,"  a 
blue-eyed  Yorkshireman.  His  eyes  were  very  bright 
— unusually  bright.  The  teamster  was  placidly 
looking  round  his  horses. 

"  Very  well,"  she  answered,  and  passed  little 
Marjorie  out  into  her  father's  arms.  Then  she 
sprang  lightly  to  the  ground. 

Then  the  teamster  drove  the  horses  away  into  the 
brush,  and  the  wagon  was  hidden  from  view.  The 
scout  and  the  batman  pitched  two  "  A  "  tents,  and 
the  mother  noticed  that  they  were  so  placed  as  to  be 
utterly  hidden  in  the  thick  foliage.  The  horses  were 
off-saddled,  and,  contrary  to  custom,  were  tethered 
further  still  from  the  road,  down  by  the  water. 

Little  Marjorie  went  off  with  the  men  who  were 
securing  the  horses,  and  Alice  stood  watching  her 
husband's  movements.  She  was  a  beautiful  woman 
of  that  strong,  dark  Celtic  type,  so  common  in 
Ireland.  Her  strong  supple  figure  was  displayed  to 
perfection  in  a  simple  tweed  suit  with  a  jacket  of  the 
Norfolk  pattern.  She  stood  for  some  moments 
watching  with  deep  contemplative  eyes.  Then  she 
abruptly  turned  away. 

"  I  will  gather  some  fire-wood,"  she  said  deliberately 
to  her  husband. 


ON  THE  PLAINS  23 

He  looked  up  from  his  work  and  their  eyes  met 

"  Don't  bother,"  he  said  ;  "  we  will  use  the  oil 
stove." 

And  without  further  explanation  the  camp  was 
arranged.  There  was  no  bustle  or  excitement.  Yet 
each  member  of  that  little  party,  with  the  exception 
of  the  child,  knew  that  the  camp  had  been  made  in 
emergency — grave  emergency. 

A  hearty  meal  was  partaken  of.  Then  the  man 
and  the  scout  disappeared.  The  others  occupied 
themselves  around  the  camp.  The  afternoon  wore 
on.  At  tea  the  scout  and  his  companion  reappeared. 
The  wife  still  asked  no  verbal  questions.  Her  eyes 
told  her  all  she  wished  to  know. 

During  the  evening  meal  little  Marjorie  made  a 
discovery. 

"  Mamma,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you've  got  a  belt  on 
like  daddy's.  What  are  these  ?  "  And  she  fingered 
a  revolver  holster,  of  which  her  mother's  belt  sup- 
ported two. 

It  was  the  rough,  long-haired  scout  who  saved  the 
woman  a  deliberate  falsehood. 

"Guess  them's  playthings,"  he  said,  with  a  sombre 
laugh.  "  B't  don't  figger  they're  fer  kiddies  to 
monkey  with." 

After  supper  the  man  and  the  scout  again  disap- 
peared. Three  hours  later  the  moon  was  high  in 
the  starlit  sky.  It  was  a  glorious  summer  moon, 
and  the  whole  country  was  bright  with  its  silvery 
light 


24         THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Two  men  were  lying  upon  their  stomachs  conning 
the  northwestern  sky-Une. 

The  scout  at  last  spoke  in  his  slow  drawling  way. 

"  Guess  it's  played  out,  Colonel,"  he  said.  *'  We're 
up  agin  it." 

It  didn't  seem  clear  to  what  he  referred,  but  the 
other  understood  him. 

"  Yes,  they're  working  this  way,"  he  replied. 
*'  See,  something  has  been  fired  away  to  the  right 
front.  The}'  may  be  working  round  that  way  and 
will  miss  us  here.     What  are  our  chances  ?  " 

"  Nix,"  responded  the  scout  decidedly.  "  Them 
critturs  hev  got  to  git  around  this  way.  They're  on 
a  line  that'll  strike  Fort  Randall,  wi'  a  heap  more 
military  'n  they'll  notion.  They'll  strike  south  an' 
sweep  round  sheer  through  to  W^yoming.  We're 
dead  in  their  line." 

"  Then  we'd  best  get  back  and  prepare.  Mrs. 
Ray  nor  and  Marjorie  will  have  turned  in ;  we  can 
do  it  quietly." 

"Yup." 

They  rose  and  returned  to  camp. 

Colonel  Raynor  had  intended  to  avoid  his  wife's 
tent.  But  Alice  was  waiting  for  him  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  camp.  The  scout  saw  her  and  discreedy 
passed  on,  and  husband  and  wife  were  left  together. 

"  Well  ?  " 

The  woman's  tone  was  quite  steady.  She  was 
used  to  a  soldier's  life.  Besides,  she  understcr.d 
the  man's  responsibility  and    wished    to   help  him. 


ON  THE  PLAINS  25 

And  Landor  Raynor,  looking  into  the  gray  eyes 
that  were  to  him  the  gates  of  the  heart  of  purest 
womanhood,  could  not  resort  to  subterfuge. 

"They  will  be  on  us  before  morning,  dearest,"  he 
said,  and  it  was  only  by  the  greatest  effort  he  could 
check  a  tide  of  self-accusation.  But  the  woman 
understood  and  quickly  interposed. 

"  I  feared  so,  Landor.  Are  you  ready  ?  I  mean 
for  the  fight  ?  " 

"  We  are  preparing.  I  thought  of  sending  you 
and  little  Marjorie  south  with  Jim,  on  saddle  horses, 
but " 

"  No.  I  would  not  go.  I  am  what  you  men  call 
'  useful  with  a  gun.'  "     She  laughed  shortly. 

There  was  a  silence  between  them  for  some  mo- 
ments. And  in  that  silence  a  faint  and  distant  sound 
came  to  them.  It  was  like  the  sound  of  droning 
machinery,  only  very  faint. 

The  wife  broke  the  silence.  "  Landor,  we  are  old 
campaigners,  you  and  I." 

"  Yes,  Al." 

The  woman  sighed  ever  so  lightly. 

•*  The  excitement  of  the  foreknowledge  of  victory  is 
not  in  me  to-night    Everything  seems — so  ordinary, ' 

"  Yes." 

"  When  the  moment  comes,  Landor,  I  should  not 
like  to  be  taken  prisoner." 

"  Nor  shall  you  be,  Al.  There  are  four  good 
fighting  men  with  you.  All  old  campaigners  like 
— vou." 


26        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Yes.  I  wasn't  thinking  of  that."  The  gray  eyes 
looked  away.     The  man  shifted  uneasily. 

There  was  a  prolonged  silence.  E^ch  was  think- 
ing over  old  scenes  in  old  campaigns. 

"  I  don't  think  I  am  afraid  of  much,"  the  woman 
said  slowly,  at  last.     "Certainly  not  of  death." 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,  Al."  The  man's  arm  linked 
itself  through  his  wife's.  The  woman  smiled  wist- 
fully up  into  the  strong  face  bending  over  her. 

"I  was  thinking,  dearest,  if  death  faced  us,  little 
Marjorie  and  me,  in  any  form,  we  should  not  like  it 
at  the  hands  of  an  Indian.  We  should  both  prefer 
it  from  some  one  we  know  and — love." 

Another  silence  followed,  and  the  sound  of  ma- 
chinery was  nearer  and  louder.  The  man  stooped 
down  and  kissed  the  upturned  face,  and  looked 
long  into  the  beautiful  gray  depths  he  loved  so  wei' 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,  Al — as  a  last  resourca 
I  will  go  and  kiss  Marjorie.  It  is  time  we  were 
doing." 

He  had  spoken  so  quietly,  so  calmly.  But  in  his 
soldier's  heart  he  knew  that  his  promise  would  be 
carried  out  to  the  letter — as  a  last  resource.  He 
left  the  woman,  the  old  campaigner,  examining  the 
revolvers  which  looked  like  cannons  in  her  small 
white  hands. 

One  brief  hour  has  passed.  The  peace  of  that 
lonely  litde  trail-side  camp  has  gone.  War,  a  thou- 
sand times  more  fierce  than  the  war  of  civilized  ra- 


ON  THE  PLAINS  27 

tions,  is  raging  round  it  in  the  light  of  the  summer 
moon.  The  dead  bodies  of  three  white  men  are 
lying  within  a  few  yards  of  the  tent  which  belongs 
to  the  ill-fated  colonel  and  his  wife.  A  horde  of 
shouting,  shrieking  savages  encircle  that  little  white 
canopy  and  its  too  remaining  defenders.  Every 
bush  is  alive  with  hideous  painted  faces  waiting  for 
the  last  order  to  rush  the  camp.  Their  task  has 
been  less  easy  than  they  supposed.  For  the  defend- 
ers were  ail  "  old  hands."  And  ever)'  shot  from  the 
repeating  rifles  has  told.  But  now  it  is  different. 
There  are  only  two  defenders  left.  A  man  of  in- 
vincible courage — and  a  woman  ;  and  behind  them, 
a  little,  awestruck  child  in  the  doorway  of  the  tent 

The  echoing  war-whoop  sounds  the  final  advance, 
and  the  revolvers  of  those  two  desperate  defenders 
crack  and  crack  again.  The  woman's  ammunition 
is  done.  The  man's  is  nearly  so.  He  turns,  and  she 
turns  to  meet  him.     There  is  one  swift  embrace, 

"  Now  1 "  she  says  in  a  low,  soft  voice. 

There  is  an  ominous  crack  of  a  revolver,  but  it  is 
not  fired  in  the  direction  of  the  Indians  whom  the 
man  sees  are  within  a  few  yards  of  him.  He  sees  the 
woman  fall,  and  turns  swiftly  to  the  tent  door.  The 
child  instinctively  turns  and  runs  inside.  The  man's 
gun  is  raised  with  inexorable  purpose.  His  shot 
rings  out.  The  child  screams  ;  and  the  man  crashes 
to  the  earth  with  his  head  cleft  by  a  hatchet  from 
behind. 


CHAPTER  III 

AN  ALARM  IN  BEACON  CROSSING 

A  HORSEMAN  riding  from  White  River  Homestead 
to  Beacon  Crossing  will  find  himself  confronted  with 
just  eighty-two  miles  of  dreary,  flat  trail ;  in  summer 
time,  just  eighty-two  miles  of  blistering  sun,  dust  and 
mosquitoes.  The  trail  runs  parallel  to,  and  about 
three  miles  north  of  the  cool,  shady  White  River, 
which  is  a  tantalizing  invention  of  those  who  de- 
signed the  trail. 

In  the  whole  eighty-two  miles  there  is  but  one 
wayside  house  ;  it  is  called  the  "  halfway."  No  one 
lives  there.  It,  like  the  log  hut  of  Nevil  Steyne  on 
the  bank  of  the  White  River,  staiids  alone,  a  relic  of 
the  dim  past.  But  it  serves  a  good  purpose,  for  one 
can  break  the  journey  there,  and  sleep  the  night  in 
its  cheerless  shelter.  Furthermore,  within  the  ruins 
of  its  old-time  stockade  is  a  well,  a  deep,  wide- 
mouthed  well  full  of  cool  spring  water,  which  is  the 
very  thing  needed. 

It  is  sunrise  and  a  horseman  has  just  ridden  away 
from  this  shelter.  He  is  a  man  of  considerable 
height,  to  judge  by  the  length  of  his  stirrups,  and  he 
has  that  knack  of  a  horseman  in  the  saddle  which 


AN  ALARM  IN  BEACON  CROSSING        29 

comes  only  to  those  who  have  learned  to  ride  as 
soon  as  they  have  learned  to  run. 

He  wears  fringed  chapps  over  his  moleskin  trou- 
sers, which  give  him  an  appearance  of  greater  size 
than  he  possesses,  for,  though  stout  of  frame,  he  is 
lean  and  wiry.  His  face  is  wonderfully  grave  for  a 
young  man,  which  may  be  accounted  for  by  the  fact 
that  he  has  lived  through  several  Indian  risings. 
And  it  is  a  strong  face,  too,  with  a  decided  look  of 
what  people  term  self-reliance  in  it,  also,  probably, 
a  product  of  those  dreaded  Indian  wars.  He,  like 
many  men  who  live  through  strenuous  times,  is 
given  much  to  quick  thought  and  slow  speech, 
which,  though  excellent  features  in  character,  do  not 
help  toward  companionship  in  wild  townships  like 
Beacon  Crossing. 

Seth  is  well  thought  of  in  that  city — whither  he  is 
riding  now — but  he  is  more  respected  than  loved. 
The  truth  is  he  has  a  way  of  liking  slowly,  and  dis- 
liking thoroughly,  and  this  is  a  disposition  the  reck- 
less townsmen  of  Beacon  Crossing  fail  to  understand, 
and,  failing  to  understand,  like  most  people,  fail  to 
appreciate. 

Just  now  he  is  more  particularly  grave  than  usual. 
He  has  ridden  from  White  River  Farm  to  execute 
certain  business  in  town  for  his  foster-parents,  Rube 
Sampson  and  his  wife  ;  a  trifling  matter,  and  cer- 
tainly nothing  to  bring  that  look  of  doubt  in  his  eyes, 
and  the  thoughtful  pucker  between  his  clean-cut 
brows.     His  whole  attention  is  given  up  to  a  con- 


30        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

templation  of  the  land  beyond  the  White  River,  and 
the  distance  away  behind  him  to  tlie  left,  which  is  the 
direction  of  the  Rosebud  Indian  Reservation. 

Yesterday  his  attention  had  been  called  in  these 
directions,  and  on  reaching  the  "  halfway  "  he  had 
serious  thoughts  of  returning  home,  but  reflection 
had  kept  him  to  his  journey  if  it  had  in  no  way  eased 
his  mind. 

Yesterday  he  had  observed  a  smoky  haze  spread- 
ing slowly  northward  on  the  lightest  of  breezes  ;  and 
it  was  coming  across  the  Reservation.  It  was  early 
June,  and  the  prairie  was  too  young  and  green  to 
burn  yet. 

The  haze  was  still  hanging  in  the  bright  morning 
air.  It  had  spread  right  across  his  path  in  the  night, 
and  a  strong  smell  of  burning  greeted  him  as  he  rode 
out. 

He  urged  his  horse  and  rode  faster  than  he  had 
ridden  the  day  before.  There  was  a  silent  sympathy 
between  horse  and  rider  which  displayed  itself  in  the 
alertness  of  the  animal's  manner ;  he  was  traveling 
with  head  held  high,  nostrils  distended,  as  though 
sniffing  at  the  smell  of  burning  in  some  alarm. 
And  his  gait,  too,  had  become  a  little  uneven,  which, 
in  a  horse,  means  that  his  attention  is  distracted. 

Before  an  hour  had  passed  the  man's  look  changed 
to  one  of  some  apprehension.  Smoke  was  rising  in 
a  new  direction.  He  had  no  need  to  turn  to  see  it,  it 
was  on  his  left  front,  far  away  beyond  the  horizoB, 
but  somewhere  where  the  railroad  track,  linking  the 


AN  ALARM  IN  BEACON  CROSSING        31 

East  witii  Beacon  Crossing,  cut  through  the  plains 
of  Nebraska.  Suddenly  his  horse  leapt  forward 
into  a  strong  swinging  gallop.  He  had  felt  the 
touch  of  the  spur.  Seth  pulled  out  a  great  silver 
timepiece  and  consulted  it. 

*'  I  ken  make  it  in  two  hours  an'  a  haf  from  now," 
he  muttered.  "That'll  be  haf  past  eight.  Good  1 
Put  it  along,  Buck." 

The  last  was  addressed  to  the  horse  ;  and  the  dust 
rose  in  great  heavy  clouds  behind  them  as  the  willing 
beast  stretched  out  to  his  work. 

Beacon  Crossing  is  called  a  city  by  those  residents 
who  have  lived  in  it  since  the  railway  brought  it  into 
existence.  Chance  travelers,  and  those  who  are  not 
prejudiced  in  its  favor,  call  it  a  hole.  It  certainly  has 
claims  in  the  latter  direction.  It  is  the  section  ter- 
minal on  the  railway ;  and  that  is  the  source  of  its 
questionable  prosperity. 

There  is  a  main  street  parallel  to  the  railroad  track 
with  some  stores  facing  the  latter.  It  has  only  one 
sidewalk  and  only  one  row  of  buildings  ;  the  other 
side  of  the  street  is  given  up  to  piles  of  metal  rails 
and  wooden  ties  and  ballast  for  the  track.  The  stores 
are  large  fronted,  with  a  mockery  which  would  lead 
the  unenlightened  to  believe  they  are  two-storied  ; 
but  this  is  make-believe.  The  upper  windows  have 
no  rooms  behind  them.  They  are  the  result  of  over- 
weening vanity  on  the  part  of  the  City  Council  and 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  storekeepers. 

The  place  is  unremarkable  for  anything  else,  un- 


32        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

less  it  be  the  dirty  and  unpaved  condition  of  its 
street.  True  there  are  other  houses,  private  resi- 
dences, but  these  are  set  indiscriminately  upon  the 
surrounding  prairie,  and  have  no  relation  to  any 
roads.  A  row  of  blue  gum  trees  marks  the  front  of 
each,  and,  for  the  most  part,  a  clothes-line,  bearing 
some  articles  of  washing,  indicates  the  back.  Beacon 
Crossing  would  be  bragged  about  only  by  those  who 
helped  to  make  it. 

The  only  building  worth  consideration  is  the  hotel, 
opposite  the  depot  This  has  a  verandah  and  a  tie- 
post,  and  there  are  always  horses  standing  outside 
it,  and  always  men  standing  on  the  verandah,  except 
when  it  is  raining,  then  they  are  to  be  found  inside. 

It  was  only  a  litde  after  eight  in  the  morning. 
Breakfast  was  nearly  over  in  the  hotel,  and,  to  judge 
by  the  number  of  saddle-horses  at  the  tie-post,  the 
people  of  Beacon  Crossing  were  very  much  astir. 
Presently  the  verandah  began  to  fill  with  hard-faced, 
rough-clad  men.  And  most  of  them  as  they  came 
were  filling  their  pipes,  which  suggested  that  they 
had  just  eaten. 

Nevil  Steyne  was  one  of  the  earliest  to  emerge 
from  the  breakfast  room.  He  had  been  the  last  to 
go  in,  and  the  moment  he  reappeared  it  was  to  sur- 
vey swiftly  the  bright  blue  distance  away  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Indian  Reservations,  and,  unseen  by  those 
who  stood  around,  he  smiled  ever  so  slightly  at  what 
ne  beheld.  The  two  men  nearest  him  were  talking 
earnestly,  and  their  earnestness  was  emphasized  by 


AN  ALARM  IN  BEACON  CROSSING        33 

the  number  of  matches  they  used  in  keeping  their 
pipes  ahght. 

"Them's  Injun  fires,  sure,"  said  one,  at  the  con- 
clusion of  a  long  argument. 

"  Maybe  they  are,  Dan,"  said  the  other,  an  angular 
man  who  ran  a  small  hardware  store  a  few  yards 
lower  down  the  street  **  But  they  ain't  on  this  side 
of  the  Reservation  anyway." 

The  significant  selfishness  of  his  last  remark 
brought  the  other  round  on  him  in  a  moment 

"  That's  all  you  care  for,  eh  ?  "  Dan  said  wither- 
ingly.  •'  Say,  I'm  working  for  the  '  diamond  P's,' 
and  they  run  their  stock  that  aways.  Hev  you  been 
through  one  o'  them  Injun  risings?" 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

"  Jest  so." 

Another  man,  stout  and  florid,  Jack  McCabe,  the 
butcher,  joined  them. 

"  Can't  make  it  out  There  ain't  been  any  Sun- 
dance, which  is  usual  'fore  they  get  busy.  Guess  it 
ain't  no  rising.  Big  Wolfs  too  clever.  If  it  was 
spring  round-up  or  fall  round-up  it  'ud  seem  more 
likely.  Guess  some  feller's  been  and  fired  the  woods. 
Which,  by  the  way,  is  around  Jason's  farm.  Say, 
Dan  Lawson,  you  living  that  way,  ain't  it  right  that 
Jason's  got  a  couple  of  hundred  beeves  in  his 
corrals  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Dan  of  the  "  diamond  P's."  "  He 
bought  up  the  '  flying  S '  stock.  He's  holding  'em 
up   for   rebrandin'.     Say,    Nevil,"    the   cowpuncher 


34        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

went  on,  turning  to  the  wood-cutter  of  White  River, 
'*  you  oughter  know  how  them  red  devils  is  doin'. 
Did  you  hear  or  see  anything  ?  " 

Nevil  turned  with  a  slight  flush  tingeing  his 
cheeks.     He  didn't  like  the  other's  tone. 

"  I  don ':  know  why  I  should  know  or  see  any- 
thing," he  said  shortly. 

"  Wal,  you're  kind  o'  livin'  ad-jacent,  as  the  say  in' 
is,"  observed  Dan,  with  a  shadowy  smile. 

The  other  men  on  the  verandah  had  come  around, 
and  they  smiled  more  broadly  than  the  cowpuncher. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  they  were  not  particularly 
favorable  toward  Nevil  Steyne.  It  was  as  Dan  had 
said  ;  he  lived  near  the  Reservation,  and,  well,  these 
men  were  frontiersmen  who  knew  the  ways  of  the 
country  in  which  they  lived. 

Nevil  saw  the  smiling  faces  and  checked  his  anger. 
He  laughed  instead. 

*'  Well,"  he  said,  "  since  you  set  such  store  by  my 
opinions  I  confess  I  had  no  reason  to  suspect  any 
disturbance,  and,  to  illustrate  my  faith  in  the  Indians' 
peaceful  condition,  I  am  going  home  at  noon,  and 
to-morrow  intend  to  cut  a  load  or  two  of  wood  on 
the  river." 

Dan  had  no  more  to  say.  He  could  have  said 
something  but  refrained,  and  the  rest  of  the  men 
turned  to  watch  the  white  smoke  in  the  distance. 
Decidedly  Steyne  had  scored  a  point  and  should 
have  been  content ;  but  he  wasn't. 

"  I  suppose  you  fellows  think  a  white  man  can' t 


AN  ALARM  IN  BEACON  CROSSING        35 

live  near  Indians  without  •  taking  the  blanket,' "  he 
pursued  with  a  sneer. 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  Then  Dan  answered 
him  slowly. 

"  Jest  depends  on  the  man,  I  guess." 

There  was  a  nasty  tone  in  the  cowpuncher's  voice 
and  trouble  seemed  imminent,  but  it  was  fortunately 
nipped  in  the  bud  by  Jack  McCabe. 

"  Hello ! "  the  butcher  exclaimed  excitedly, 
"  there's  a  feller  pushin'  his  plug  as  tho'  them 
Injuns  was  on  his  heels.  Say,  it's  Seth  o'  White 
River  Farm,  and  by  the  gait  he's  travehn',  I'd  gam- 
ble, Nevil,  you  don't  cut  that  wood  to-morrow.  Seth 
don't  usually  ride  hard." 

The  whole  attention  on  the  verandah  was  centred 
on  Seth,  who  was  riding  toward  the  hotel  from  across 
the  track  as  hard  as  his  horse  could  lay  foot  to  the 
ground. 

In  a  few  moments  he  drew  up  at  the  tie-post  and 
flung  off  his  horse.  And  a  chorus  of  inquiry  greeted 
him  from  the  bystanders. 

The  newcomer  raised  an  undisturbed  face  to  them, 
and  his  words  came  without  any  of  the  excitement 
that  the  pace  he  had  ridden  in  at  had  suggested. 

"  The  Injuns  are  out,"  he  said,  and  bent  down  to 
ieel  his  horse's  legs.  They  seemed  to  be  of  most 
interest  to  him  at  the  moment. 

Curiously  enough  his  words  were  accepted  by  the 
men  on  the  verandah  without  question.  That  is,  by 
all  except  Steyne.     No  doubt  he  was  irritated  by 


36        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

what  had  gone  before,  but  even  so,  it  hardly  war- 
ranted, in  face  of  the  fires  in  the  south,  his  obstinate 
refusal  to  believe  that  the  Indians  were  out  on  the 
war-path.  Besides,  he  resented  the  quiet  assurance  of 
the  newcomer.  He  resented  the  manner  in  which 
the  others  accepted  his  statement,  disliking  it  as 
much  as  he  disliked  the  man  who  had  made  it.  Nor 
was  the  reason  of  this  hatred  far  to  seek.  Seth  was 
a  loyal  white  man  who  took  his  life  in  his  own  hands 
and  fought  strenuously  in  a  savage  land  for  his  ex- 
istence, a  bold,  fearless  frontiersman ;  while  he, 
Nevil,  knew  in  his  secret  heart  that  he  had  lost  that 
caste,  had  thrown  away  that  right — that  birthright. 
He  had,  as  these  men  also  knew,  "  taken  the 
blanket''  He  had  become  a  white  Indian.  He 
lived  by  the  clemency  of  that  people,  in  their  man- 
ner, their  life.  He  was  one  of  them,  while  yet  his 
skin  was  white.  He  was  regarded  by  his  own  race 
as  an  outcast.  He  was  a  degenerate.  So  he  hated 
— hated  them  all.  But  Seth  he  hated  most  of  all 
because  he  saw  more  of  him,  he  Lived  near  him.  He 
knew  that  Seth  knew  him,  knew  him  down  to  his 
heart's  core.  This  was  sufficient  in  a  nature  like  his 
to  set  him  hating,  but  he  hated  him  for  yet  another 
reason.  Seth  was  as  strong,  brave,  honest  as  he  was 
the  reverse.  He  belonged  to  an  underworld  which 
nothing  could  ever  drag  a  nature  such  as  Seth's 
down  to. 

He   knocked   his   pipe   out   aggressively  on  the 
wooden  fioor  of  the  verandah. 


AN  ALARM  IN  BEACON  CROSSING        37 

"  1  don't  believe  it,"  he  said  loudly,  in  an  offensive 
way. 

Seth  dropped  his  broncho's  hoof,  which  he  had 
been  examining  carefully,  and  turned  round.  It 
would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  significance  of 
his  movement  It  suggested  the  sudden  rousing  of 
a  real  fighting  dog  that  had  been  disturbed  in  some 
peaceful  pursuit.  He  was  not  noisy,  he  did  not  even 
look  angry.     He  was  just  ready. 

"  I  guess  you  ought  to  know,  Nevil  Steyne," 
he  said  with  emphaisis.  Then  he  turned  his  head 
and  looked  away  down  the  street,  as  the  clatter 
of  hoofs  and  rattle  of  wheels  reached  the  hotel 
And  for  the  second  time  within  a  few  minutes, 
trouble,  such  as  only  Western  men  fully  under- 
stand, was  staved  of^  by  a  more  important  inter- 
rupdon. 

A  team  and  buckboard  dashed  up  to  the  hotel. 
Dan  Somers,  the  sheriff,  and  Lai  Price,  the  Land 
Agent,  were  in  the  conveyance,  and  as  they  drew 
up,  one  of  the  horses  dropped  to  the  ground  in  its 
harness.  The  men,  watching  these  two  plainsmen 
scrambling  from  the  vehicle,  knew  that  life  and  death 
alone  could  have  sent  them  into  town  at  a  pace  suf- 
ficient to  kill  one  of  their  horses. 

••  Boys  1 "  cried  the  sheriff  at  once.  "  Who's  for 
it?  Those  durned  Injuns  are  out;  they're  gittin' 
round  Jason's  place.  I'm  not  sure  but  the  woods  are 
fired  a' ready.  They've  come  from  the  south,  I  guess. 
Thev're  Rosebuds.     Ther's  old  man  Jason  and  his 


38        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

missis  ;  and  ther's  tlie  gals — three  of  'em.  We  can't 
let'em " 

Seth  interrupted  him. 

"  And  we  ain't  going  to,"  he  observed.  He  knew^ 
they  all  knew,  what  the  sheriff  would  have  said. 

Seth's  interruption  was  the  cue  for  suggestions. 
And  they  came  with  a  rush,  which  is  the  way  with 
men  such  as  these,  all  eager  and  ready  to  help  in  the 
rescue  of  a  white  family  from  the  hands  of  a  common 
foe.  There  was  no  hesitation,  for  they  were^most  of 
them  old  hands  in  this  Indian  business,  and,  in  the 
back  recesses  of  their  brains,  each  man  held  recol- 
lections of  past  atrocities,  too  hideous  to  be  contem- 
plated calmly. 

Those  who  were  later  with  their  breakfast  now 
swelled  the  crowd  on  the  verandah.  The  news 
seemed  to  have  percolated  through  to  the  rest  of  the 
town,  for  men  were  gathering  on  all  sides,  just  as 
men  gather  in  civilized  cities  on  receipt  of  news  of 
national  importance.  They  came  at  once  to  the 
central  public  place.  The  excitement  had  leapt  with 
the  suddenness  of  a  conflagration,  and,  like  a  con- 
flagration, there  would  be  considerable  destruction 
before  it  died  down.  The  Indians  in  their  savage 
temerity  might  strike  Beacon  Crossing.  Once  the 
Indians  were  loose  it  was  like  the  breaking  of  a  tidal 
wave  on  a  low  shore. 

The  sheriff  was  the  man  they  all  looked  to,  and, 
veteran  warrior  that  he  was,  he  quickly  got  a  grip  on 
things.     One  hard-riding  scout,  a  man  as  wily  as  the 


AN  ALARM  IN  BEACON  CROSSING        39 

Indiai  himself,  he  despatched  to  warn  all  outlying 
settlers.  He  could  spare  no  more  than  one.  Then 
he  sent  telegraphic  messages  for  the  military,  whose 
fort  a  progressive  and  humane  government  had 
located  some  two  hundred  miles  away.  Then  he 
divided  his  volunteers,  equipped  with  their  own 
arms,  and  all  the  better  for  that,  and  detailed  one 
party  for  the  town's  defence,  and  the  other  to  join 
him  in  the  work  of  rescue. 

These  things  arranged,  then  came  the  first  check. 
It  was  discovered  that  the  driver  of  the  only  loco- 
motive in  the  place  was  sick.  The  engine  itself,  a 
rusty  looking  ancient  machine,  was  standing  coldly 
idle  in  the  yards. 

A  deputation  waited  upon  the  sick  man,  while 
others  went  and  coupled  up  some  empty  trucks  and 
fired  the  engine.  Seth  was  among  the  latter.  The 
deputation  returned.  It  was  fever  ;  and  the  man 
could  not  come.  Being  ready  campaigners,  their 
thoughts  turned  on  their  horses. 

The  sheriff  was  a  blank  man  for  the  moment.  It 
was  a  question  of  time,  he  knew.  He  was  standing 
beside  the  locomotive  which  had  already  begun  to 
snort,  and  which  looked,  at  that  moment,  in  the  eyes 
of  those  gathered  round  it,  despite  its  rustiness,  a 
truly  magnificent  proposition.  He  was  about  to  call 
for  volunteers  to  replace  the  driver,  when  Seth,  who 
all  the  time  had  been  working  in  the  cab,  and  who 
had  heard  the  news  of  the  trouble,  leant  over  the  rai/ 
that  protected  the  foot-plate. 


40        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Say,  Dan,"  he  said.  "  If  none  of  the  boys  are 
scared  to  ride  behind  me,  and  I  don't  figger  they 
are,  I'll  pump  the  old  kettle  along.  Guess  I've  fired 
a  traction  once.  1  don't  calc'late  she'll  have  time  to 
bust  up  in  forty  miles.  I'll  take  the  chances  if  they 
will." 

The  sherifif  looked  up  at  the  thoughtful  face  above 
him.  He  grinned,  and  others  grinned  with  him. 
But  their  amusement  was  quite  lost  on  Seth.  He 
was  trying  to  estimate  the  possible  result  of  putting 
the  "  kettle,"  as  he  called  the  locomotive,  at  full 
steam  ahead,  disregarding  every  other  tap  and  gauge 
on  the  driving  plate,  and  devoting  himself  to  heap- 
ing up  the  furnace.  These  things  interested  him, 
not  as  a  source  of  danger,  but  only  in  the  matter  of 
speed. 

"  Good  for  you,  Seth,"  cried  Dan  Somers.  "  Now, 
boys,  all  aboard  1 " 

And  Seth  turned  to  the  driving  plate  and  sounded 
a  preliminary  whistle. 


CHAPTER  IV 

ROSEBUD 

It  is  nearly  midday,  and  the  Indians  round  the 
blazing  woods  on  the  southern  spur  of  the  Black 
Hills  are  in  full  retreat.  Another  desperate  battle, 
such  as  crowd  the  unwritten  history  of  the  United 
States,  has  been  fought  and  won.  The  history  of 
the  frontiersman's  life  would  fill  a  record  which  any 
soldier  might  envy.  It  is  to  the  devotion  of  such 
men  that  colonial  empires  owe  their  being,  for  with- 
out their  aid,  no  military  force  could  bring  peace  and 
prosperity  to  a  land.  The  power  of  the  sword  may 
conquer  and  hold,  but  there  it3  mission  ends.  It  is 
left  to  the  frontiersman  to  do  the  rest. 

The  battle-field  is  strewn  with  dead  and  dying ; 
but  there  are  no  white  faces  staring  blankly  up  at 
the  heavens,  only  the  painted,  seared  features  of  the 
red  man.  Their  opponents  are  under  cover.  If  they 
have  any  dead  or  dying  they  are  with  the  living. 
These  men  fight  in  the  manner  of  the  Indian,  but 
with  a  superior  intelligence. 

But  though  the  white  men  have  won  the  battle 
their  end  is  defeated.  For  the  blazing  woods  have 
sw^ept  across  the  homestead  of  "  old  man  "  Jason,  for 
years  a  landmark   in  the  country,  and  now  it  is  no 


42        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

more.  A  mere  charred  skeleton  remains  ;  smoking, 
smouldering,  a  witness  to  the  white  man's  daring  in 
a  savage  country. 

The  blazing  woods  are  approachable  only  on  the 
windward  side,  and  even  here  the  heat  is  blistering. 
It  is  still  impossible  to  reach  the  ruins  of  the  home- 
stead, for  the  wake  of  the  fire  is  like  a  superheated 
oven.  And  so  the  men  who  came  to  succor  have 
done  the  only  thing  left  for  them.  They  have  fought 
and  driven  off  the  horde  of  Indians,  who  first  sacked 
the  ranch  and  then  fired  it.  But  the  inmates  ;  and 
amongst  them  four  women.  What  of  them  ?  These 
rough  plainsmen  asked  themselves  this  question  as 
they  approached  the  conflagration  ;  then  they  shut 
their  teeth  hard  and  meted  out  a  terrible  chastise- 
ment before  pushing  their  inquiries  further.  It  was 
the  only  way. 

A  narrow  river  sk'^ts  the  foot  of  the  hills,  cutting 
the  homestead  oil  from  the  plains.  And  along  its 
bank,  on  the  prairie  side,  is  a  scattered  brush  such  as  is 
to  be  found  adjacent  to  most  woods.  The  fire  has 
left  it  untouched  except  that  the  foliage  is  much 
scorched,  and  it  is  here  that  the  victors  of  an  unre- 
corded battle  He  hidden  in  the  cover.  Though  the 
enemy  is  in  full  retreat,  and  the  rearmost  horsemen 
are  fast  diminishing  against  the  horizon,  not  a  man 
has  left  his  shelter.  They  are  men  well  learned  in 
the  craft  of  the  Indians. 

Dan  Somers  and  Seth  are  sharing  the  same  cover. 
The  sherili  is  watching  the  last  of  the  braves  as  they 


ROSEBUD  43 

desperately  hasten  out  of  range.  At  last  he  moves 
and  starts  to  rise  from  his  prone  position.  But 
Seth's  strong  hand  checks  him  and  pulls  him  down 
again. 

"  Not  yet,"  he  said. 

"Why?" 

But  the  sheriff  yielded  nevertheless.  In  spite  of 
his  fledgling  twenty-two  years,  Seth  was  an  experi- 
enced Indian  fighter,  and  Dan  Somers  knew  it ;  no 
one  better.  Seth's  father  and  mother  had  paid  the 
life  penalty  seventeen  years  ago  at  the  hands  of  the 
Cheyennes.  It  was  jokingly  said  that  Seth  was  a 
white  Indian.  By  which  those  who  said  it  meant 
well  but  put  it  badly.  He  certainly  had  remarkable 
native  instincts. 

"  This  heat  is  hellish ! "  Somers  protested  pres- 
ently, as  Seth  remained  silent,  gazing  hard  at  a 
rather  large  bluff  on  the  river  bank,  some  three 
hundred  yards  ahead.  Then  he  added  bitterly, 
"  But  it  ain't  no  use.  We're  too  late.  The  fire's 
finished  everv^thing.  Maybe  we'll  find  their  bodies. 
I  guess  their  scalps  are  elsewhere." 

Seth  turned.  He  began  to  move  out  of  his  cover 
in  Indian  fashion,  wriggling  through  the  grass  like 
some  great  lizard. 

"  111  be  back  in  a  whiles,"  he  said,  as  he  went. 
"  Stay  right  here." 

He  was  back  in  a  few  minutes.  No  Indian  could 
have  been  more  silent  in  his  movements. 

"  Well  ?  "  questioned  the  sheriff. 


44         THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Seth  smiled  in  his  own  gradual  manner.  "  We're 
going  to  draw  'em,  I  guess,"  he  said.     "  Fill  up." 

And  the  two  men  recharged  the  magazines  oi 
their  Winchesters. 

Presently  Seth  pointed  silently  at  the  big  bluff  on 
the  river  bank.  The  next  moment  he  had  fired  into 
it,  and  his  shot  was  followed  at  once  by  a  perfect  hail 
of  lead  from  the  rest  of  the  hidden  white  men.  The 
object  of  his  recent  going  was  demonstrated. 

For  nearly  two  minutes  the  fusilade  continued,  then 
Seth's  words  were  proved.  There  was  a  rush  and 
scrambling  and  breaking  of  brush.  Thirty  mounted 
braves  dashed  out  of  the  hiding  and  charged  the 
white  men's  cover.  It  was  only  to  face  a  decimating 
fire.  Half  the  number  were  unhorsed,  and  the  rider- 
less ponies  fled  in  panic  in  the  direction  of  those  who 
had  gone  before. 

But  while  others  headed  these  howling,  painted 
fiends  Seth's  rifle  remained  silent.  He  knew  that  this 
wild  rush  was  part  of  a  deliberate  plan,  and  he  waited 
for  the  further  development.  It  came.  His  gun 
leapt  to  his  shoulder  as  a  horse  and  rider  darted  out 
of  the  brush.  The  man  made  eastward,  attempting 
escape  under  cover  of  his  staunch  warriors'  desper- 
ate feint.  Seth  had  him  marked  down.  He  was  the 
man  of  all  whom  he  had  looked  for.  But  the  aim 
had  to  be  careful,  for  he  was  carrying  a  something 
that  looked  like  woman's  clothes  in  his  arms,  and, 
besides,  this  man  must  not  go  free.  Seth  was  very 
deliberate  at  all  times ;  now  he  was  particularly  so 


ROSEBUD  45 

And  when  the  puff  of  smoke  passed  from  the  muzzle 
of  his  rifle  it  was  to  be  seen  that  the  would-be  fugi- 
tive had  fallen,  and  his  horse  had  gone  on  riderless. 

Now  the  few  remaining  braves  broke  and  fled, 
but  there  was  no  escape  for  them.  They  had  de- 
feated their  own  purpose  by  approaching  too  close. 
Not  one  was  left  to  join  the  retreating  band.  It  was 
a  desperate  slaughter. 

The  fight  was  done.  Seth  left  his  cover,  and, 
followed  by  the  sheriff,  went  across  to  where  the 
former's  victim  had  fallen. 

"  Good,"   exclaimed    Somers,    as   they   came  up 

"  It  is  Big  Wolf What  ? "     He  broke  off  and 

dropped  to  his  knees. 

But  Seth  was  before  him.  The  latter  had  dragged 
the  body  of  the  great  chief  to  one  side,  and  re- 
vealed, to  the  sheriff's  astonished  eyes,  the  dainty 
clothing,  and  what  looked  like  the  dead  form  of  a. 
white  girl  child.  They  both  held  the  same  thought, 
but  Somers  was  the  first  to  put  it  into  words. 

"'Tain't  Jason's,  They're  all  grown  up,"  he 
said. 

Seth  was  looking  down  at  the  child's  beautiful 
pale  face.  His  eyes  took  in  the  thick,  fair  ringlets 
of  flowing  hair  all  matted  with  blood.  He  noted 
even  the  texture  of  the  clothes.  And,  suddenly 
stooping,  he  gathered  her  into  his  arms. 

"  She's  mine  now,"  he  said.  Then  his  thoughtful, 
dark  eyes  took  on  their  slow  smile  again.  "  And 
she  ain't  dead,  though  pretty  nigh,  I'm  thinking.  ' 


46        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"How'd  you  know?"  asked  Somers  curiously. 

"  Can't  say.     I've  jest  a  notion  that  aways." 

The  others  came  up,  but  not  another  word  passed 
Seth's  lips.  He  walked  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
track  where  the  engine  was  standing-  at  the  head  of 
its  trucks.  And  by  the  time  he  reached  his  desti- 
nation he  was  quite  weighted  down,  for  this  prize  of 
his  was  no  infant  but  a  girl  of  some  years.  He 
laid  her  tenderly  in  the  cab  of  the  engine,  and 
quickly  discovered  a  nasty  scalp  wound  on  the  back 
of  her  head.  Just  for  a  moment  he  conceived  it  to 
be  the  result  of  his  own  shot,  then  he  realized  that 
the  injury  was  not  of  such  recent  infliction.  Never- 
theless it  was  the  work  of  a  bullet ;  which  discovery 
brought  forth  a  flow  of  scathing  invective  upon  the 
head  of  the  author  of  the  outrage. 

With  that  care  which  was  so  characteristic  of  this 
thoughtful  plainsman,  he  fetched  water  from  the 
tank  of  the  locomotive,  tore  off  a  large  portion  of 
his  own  flannel  shirt,  and  proceeded  to  wash  the 
wound  as  tenderly  as  might  any  devoted  mother. 
He  was  used  to  a  rough  treatment  of  wounds,  and, 
by  the  time  he  had  bandaged  the  pretty  head,  he 
^ound  that  his  supply  of  shirt  was  nearly  exhausted. 
But  this  in  no  way  disturbed  him. 

With  great  resource  he  went  back  to  the  prairie 
and  tore  out  great  handfuls  of  the  rank  grass,  and  so 
contrived  a  comparatively  luxurious  couch  for  his 
foundling  on  the  foot-plate  of  the  engine. 

By  this  time  the  men  were  returning  from  their 


ROSEBUD  47 

search  for  the  bodies  at  the  ruins  of  the  ranch.  The 
story  was  quickly  told.  The  remains  had  been 
found,  as  might  have  been  expected,  charred  cinders 
of  bone. 

There  was  no  more  to  be  done  here,  and  Somers, 
on  his  return  to  the  track,  sounded  the  true  note  of 
their  necessity. 

"We  must  git  back.  Them  durned  Injuns  'II 
make  tracks  fer  Beacon  Crossing,  or  I'm  a  Dago." 

Then  he  looked  into  the  cab  where  the  still  form 
of  the  prairie  waif  lay  shaded  by  a  piece  of  tarpaulin 
which  Seth  had  found  on  the  engine.  He  observed 
the  bandage  and  the  grass  bed,  and  he  looked  at 
the  figure  bending  to  the  task  of  firing. 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do  with  her?  "  he  asked 

Seth  worked  on  steadily. 

"  Guess  I'll  hand  her  over  to  Ma  Sampson,"  he 
said,  without  turning. 

"  Maybe  she  has  folks.     Maybe  ther's  the  law.' 

Seth  turned  now. 

"She's  mine  now,"  he  cried  over  his  shoulder 
Then  he  viciously  aimed  a  shovelful  of  coal  at  the 
open  furnace  door. 

All  his  years  of  frontier  life  had  failed  to  change  a 
naturally  tender  heart  in  Seth.  Whatever  he  might 
do  in  the  heat  of  swift-rising  passion  it  had  no 
promptings  in  his  real  nature  The  life  of  the  plains 
was  his  in  all  its  varying  moods,  but  there  was  an 
unchanging  love  for  his  kind  under  it  all.  How- 
ever,   like   all    such  men,  he  hated  to  be  surprised 


48        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

into  a  betrayal  of  these  innermost  feelings,  and 
this  is  what  had  happened.  Somers  had  found  the 
vulnerable  point  in  his  armor  of  reserve,  but,  like 
the  sensible  man  he  was,  he  kept  his  own  counsel. 

At  the  saloon  in  Beacon  Crossing  the  men  were 
less  careful.  Their  curiosity  found  vent  in  question- 
able pleasantries,  and  they  chaffed  Seth  in  a  rough, 
friendly  way. 

On  their  arrival  Seth  handed  the  still  unconscious 
child  over  to  the  wife  of  the  hotel-keeper  for  an  ex- 
amination of  her  clothes.  He  did  this  at  Dan 
Somers'  suggestion,  as  being  the  most  legal  course 
to  pursue,  and  waited  with  the  sheriff  and  several 
others  in  the  bar  for  the  result. 

Good  news  had  greeted  the  fighting  party  on  their 
return.  The  troops  were  alrea-^y  on  the  way  to 
suppress  the  sudden  and  unaccountable  Indian 
rising.  Eight  hundred  of  the  hard-riding  United 
States  cavalry  had  left  the  fort  on  receipt  of  the 
message  from  Beacon  Crossing.  The  hotel-keeper 
imparted  the  news  with  keen  appreciation  ;  he  had 
no  desire  for  troublesome  times.  Plainsmen  had  a 
knack  of  quitting  his  execrable  drink  when  there 
was  fighting  to  be  done — and  Louis  Roiheim  was 
an  Israelite. 

A  silence  fell  upon  the  bar-room  on  the  appear- 
ance of  Julie  Roiheim.  She  saw  Seth,  and  beckoned 
him  over  to  her. 

"  There   are    initials    on  the  little  one's  clothing 
M.  R.,"  she  said      And  Seth  nodded 


ROSEBUD  49 

"  Any  name  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  stout  old  woman  shook  her  greasy  head. 

"  But  she's  no  ordinary  child,  Seth.  Not  by  a  lot 
She  belongs  East,  or  my  name's  not  Julie.  That 
child  is  the  girl  of  some  millionaire  in  Noo  York,  or 
Philadelphy.  She's  got  nothing  on  her  but  what  is 
fine  lawn  and  real  lace  !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  murmured  the  plainsman,  without  any  re- 
sponsive enthusiasm,  while  his  dark  eyes  watched  the 
triumphant  features  of  the  woman  to  whom   these' 
things  were  of  such  consequence.     "And   has  the 
Doc.  got  around  ?  " 

"  He's  fixin'  her  up,"  Julie  Roiheim  went  on. 
'*  Oh,  yes,  you  were  right,  she's  alive,  but  he  can't 
wake  her  up.  He  says  if  she's  to  be  moved,  it  had 
best  be  at  once." 

"  Good."  Just  for  one  brief  instant  Seth's  thought- 
iul  face  lit  up.  He  turned  to  old  Louis.  "  Guess 
I'll  borrow  your  buckboard,"  he  went  on.  "  I'll 
need  it  to  take  the  kiddie  out." 

The  hotel-keeper  nodded,  and  just  then  Nevil 
Steyne,  who  at  that  moment  had  entered  the 
bar,  and  had  only  gleaned  part  of  the  conver- 
sation, made  his  way  over  to  where  Seth  was  stand- 
ing. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  '  he  asked,  fixing  his  cold  blue 
eyes  eagerly  on  the  face  of  the  man  he  was  ad- 
dressing. 

"  Don't  know,"  said  Seth  shortly.  Then  as  an  af- 
terthought, "  Clothes  marked  M.  R." 


50        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

The  blue  eyes  lowered  before  the  other's  steady 
gaze. 

"  Ah,"  murmured  Nevil.  Then  he,  too,  paused. 
**  Is  she  alive  ?  "  he  asked  at  last  And  there  was 
something  in  his  tone  which  suggested  a  dry  throat. 

"  Yes,  she  is,"  replied  Seth.  "  And,"  he  said,  with 
unusual  expansiveness,  "  I  guess  she'll  keep  right  on 
doing  that  same." 

Seth  had  again  betrayed  himself. 

Nevil  seemed  half  inclined  to  say  more.  But  Seth 
gave  him  no  chance.  He  had  no  love  for  this  man. 
He  turned  on  his  heel  without  excuse  ana  left  the 
hotel  to  attend  to  the  preparation  of  the  buckboard 
himself. 

On  his  way  home  that  afternoon,  and  all  the  next 
day,  the  Indians  were  in  his  thoughts  only  so  far  a& 
this  waif  he  had  picked  up  was  concerned.  For  the 
most  part  he  was  thinking  of  the  child  herself,  and 
those  to  whom  he  was  taking  her.  He  pictured  the 
delight  with  which  his  childless  foster-parents  would 
receive  her.  The  bright-faced  little  woman  whom  he 
affectionately  called  "  Ma  "  ;  the  massive  old  plains- 
man. Rube,  with  his  gurgling  chuckle,  gruff  voice 
and  kindly  heart.  And  his  thoughts  stirred  in  him 
an  emotion  he  never  would  have  admitted.  He 
thought  of  the  terrible  lot  he  had  saved  this  child 
from,  for  he  knew  only  too  well  why  she  had  been 
spared  by  the  ruthless  Big  Wolf. 

All  through  that  long  journey  his  watchfulness 
never  relaxed.     He  looked  to  the  comfort  of  his  pa- 


ROSEBUD  5 1 

tient  although  she  was  still  unconscious.  He  pro- 
tected her  face  from  the  sun,  and  kept  cool  cloths 
upon  her  forehead,  and  drove  only  at  a  pace  which 
spared  the  inanimate  body  unnecessary  jolting.  And 
it  was  all  done  with  an  eye  upon  the  Reservations 
and  horizon  ;  with  a  hearing  always  acute  on  the 
prairie,  rendered  doubly  so  now,  and  with  a  loaded 
rifle  across  his  knees. 

It  was  dusk  when  he  drove  up  to  the  farm.  A 
certain  relief  came  over  him  as  he  observed  the 
peaceful  cattle  grazing  adjacent  to  the  corrals,  the 
smoke  rising  from  the  kitchen  chimney,  and  the 
great  figure  of  Rube  smoking  reflectively  in  the 
kitchen  doorway. 

He  did  not  stop  to  unhitch  the  horses,  just  hook- 
ing them  to  the  corral  fence.  Then  he  lifted  the 
child  from  the  buckboard  and  bore  her  to  the  house. 

Rube  watched  him  curiously  as  he  came  with  his 
burden.  There  was  no  greeting  between  these  two. 
Both  were  usually  silent  men,  but  for  different  rea- 
sons. Conversation  was  a  labor  to  Rube  ;  a  twin- 
kling look  of  his  deep-set  eyes,  and  an  expressive 
grunt  generally  contented  him.  Now  he  removed 
his  pipe  from  his  lips  and  stared  in  open-mouthed 
astonishment  at  the  queer-looking  bundle  Seth  was 
carrying. 

"  Gee  !  "  he  muttered.  And  made  way  for  his  fos- 
ter son.  Any  questions  that  might  have  occurred  to 
him  were  banished  from  his  slow-moving  thoughts. 

Seth  laid  his  charge  upon  the  kitchen  table,  and 


52         THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Rube  looked  at  the  deathlike  face,  so  icy,  yet  so 
beautiful.  A  great  broad  smile,  not  untouched  with 
awe,  spread  over  his  bucolic  features. 

•'  Where's  Ma  ?  "  asked  Seth. 

Rube  indicated  the  ceiling  with  the  stem  of  his  pipe-. 

"  Ma,"  cried  Seth,  through  the  doorway,  up  the 
narrow  stairs  which  led  to  the  rooms  above.  "  Come 
right  down.  Guess  I've  kind  o'  got  a  present  lOr 
you." 

"  That  you,  Seth  ?  "  called  out  a  cheery  voice  from 
above. 

*'  Guess  so." 

A  moment  later  a  little  woman,  with  gray  hair  and 
a  face  that  might  have  belonged  to  a  woman  of  thirty, 
bustled  into  the  room. 

"  Ah,  Seth,"  she  cried  affectionately,  "you  jest  set 
to  it  to  spoil  your  old  mother."  Then  her  eyes  fell 
On  the  figure  on  the  kitchen  table.  "  La  sakes,  boy, 
what's — ^what's  this  ?  "  Then  as  she  bent  over  the 
unconscious  child.  "  Oh,  the  pore — pore  little 
beauty  !  " 

Rube  turned  away  with  a  chuckle.  His  practical 
little  wife  had  been  astonished  out  of  her  wits.  And 
the  fact  amused  him  immensely. 

"  It's  a  gal.  Ma,"  said  Seth.     He  too  was  smiling, 

"  Gracious,  boy,  guess  I've  got  two  eyes  in  my 
head!" 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Ma  fingered  the  silken 
curls.  Then  she  took  one  of  the  cold  hands  in  hers 
and  stroked  it  softly 


rosp:rud  5  3 

"Where — where  did  you  git  her?"  she  asked  at 
lasL 

"  The  Injuns.  I  shot  Big  Wolf  yesterday 
They're  on  the  war-path." 

'  Ah."  The  bright-eyed  woman  looked  up  at  this 
tall  foster  son  of  hers. 

"War-path — you  shot  Big  Wolf?"  cried  Rube, 
now  roused  to  unwonted  speech.  "Then  we'd  best 
git  busy." 

"  It's  all  right,  father,"  Seth  reassured  him.  "  The 
troops  are  on  the  trail." 

There  was  another  considerable  pause  while  all 
eyes  were  turned  on  the  child.  At  last  Mrs,  Samp- 
son looked  up. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  she  asked. 

Seth  shook  his  head. 

"  Don't  know.     Maybe  she's  yours — an'  mine.'* 

"  Don't  you  know  wher*  she  come  from  ?  " 

Again  Seth  shook  his  head. 

"  An' — an'  what's  her  name  ?  " 

*  Can't  say — leastways  her  initials  are  M.  R.  You 
see  I  got  her  from — there  that's  it  I  got  her  from 
the  Rosebuds.     That's  her  name.     Rosebud  I  " 


CHAPTER  V 

A   BIRTHDAY   GIFT 

Rosebud  struggled  through  five  long  months  oi 
ilhiess  alter  her  arrival  at  White  River  Farm.  It 
was  only  the  untiring  care  of  Rube  and  his  wife, 
and  Seth,  that  pulled  her  through.  The  wound 
at  the  base  of  the  skull  had  affected  her  brain  as 
well  as  body,  and,  until  the  last  moment  when  she 
finally  awoke  to  consciousness,  her  case  seemed 
utterly  without  hope. 

But  when  at  last  her  convalescence  came  it  was 
marvelously  rapid.  It  was  not  until  the  good  old 
housewife  began  to  question  her  patient  that  the  full 
result  of  the  cruel  blow  on  her  head  was  realized. 
Then  it  was  found  that  she  had  no  recollection  of  any 
past.  She  knew  not  who  she  was,  her  name,  her 
age,  even  her  nationality.  She  had  a  hazy  idea  of 
Indians,  which,  as  she  grew  stronger,  became  more 
pronounced,  until  she  declared  that  she  must  have 
lived  among  Indians  all  her  life. 

It  was  this  last  that  roused  Seth  to  a  sense  cf  what 
he  conceived  to  be  his  duty.  And  with  that  deliber- 
ateness  which  always  characterized  him,  he  set  about 
it  at  once.  From  the  beginning,  after  his  first  great 
burst  of  pitying  sorrow  for  the  little  waif,  when  he 


A  BIRTHDAY  GIFT  55 

had  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and  almost  fiercely 
claimed  her  for  his  own,  his  treasure  trove,  he  had 
realized  that  she  belonged  to  some  other  world  than 
his  own.  This  thought  stayed  with  him.  It  slum- 
bered during  the  child's  long  illness,  but  roused  to 
active  life  when  he  discovered  that  she  had  no 
knowledge  of  herself.  Therefore  he  set  about  in- 
quiries. He  must  find  out  to  whom  she  belonged 
and  restore  her  to  her  people. 

There  was  no  one  missing  for  two  hundred  miles 
round  Beacon  Crossing  except  the  Jasons.  It  was 
impossible  that  the  Indians  could  have  gone  farther 
afield,  for  they  had  not  been  out  twenty-four  hours 
when  Rosebud  was  rescued.  So  his  search  for  the 
child's  friends  proved  unavailing. 

Sdll,  from  that  day  on  he  remained  loyal  to  her. 
Any  clue,  however  frail,  was  never  too  slight  for  him 
to  hunt  to  its  source.  He  owed  it  to  her  to  restore 
her  to  her  own,  whatever  regret  it  might  cost  him 
to  lose  her.  He  was  not  the  man  to  shirk  a  painful 
duty,  certainly  not  where  his  affections  were  con- 
cerned. 

During  the  six  years,  while  Rosebud  was  growing 
to  womanhood,  Seth's  hands  were  very  full.  Those 
wonderful  violet  eyes  belonged  to  no  milk  and  water 
-'  miss."  From  the  very  beginning  the  girl  proved 
herself  spirited  and  wilful.  Not  in  any  vicious  way. 
A  "madcap"  best  describes  her.  She  had  no 
thought  of  consequences;  only  the  delight  of  the 
moment,  the  excitement  and  risk.     These  were  the 


56        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

things  that  plunged  her  into  girlish  scrapes  from 
which  it  fell  to  the  lot  of  Seth  to  extricate  her.  All 
her  little  escapades  were  in  themselves  healthy 
enough,  but  they  were  rarely  without  a  smack  of 
physical  danger. 

She  began  when  she  learned  to  ride,  a  matter  which 
of  course  devolved  upon  Seth. 

Once  she  could  sit  a  wild,  half-tamed  broncho  her 
career  in  the  direction  of  accident  became  checkered. 
Once,  after  a  day's  search  for  her,  Seth  brought  her 
home  insensible.  She  had  been  thrown  from  her 
horse,  an  animal  as  wildly  wilful  as  herself. 

A  little  private  target  practice  with  a  revolver  re- 
sulted in  the  laming  of  a  cow,  and  the  killing  of  a 
chicken,  and  in  nearly  terminating  Rube's  career, 
when  he  ran  out  of  the  house  to  ascertain  the  mean- 
ing of  the  firing.  Once  she  was  nearly  drowned  in 
the  White  River,  while  bathing  with  the  Indian  chil- 
dren after  service  at  the  Mission.  She  was  never  free 
from  the  result  of  childish  recklessness.  And  this 
feature  of  her  character  grew  with  her,  though  her 
achievements  moderated  as  the  years  passed. 

It  was  by  these  wild  means  that  she  endeared  her- 
self to  the  folks  on  the  farm.  Seth'slove  grew  apace. 
He  made  no  attempt  to  deceive  himself.  He  loved 
her  as  a  child,  and  that  love  changed  only  in  its  na- 
ture when  she  became  a  woman.  He  made  no  at- 
tempt to  check  it.  He  knew  she  was  not  for  him  ; 
never  could  be.  He,  a  rough,  half-educated  plains- 
man ;  she,  a   girl   who   displayed,  even   in  her  most 


A  BIRTHDAY  GIFT  57 

reckless  moods,  that  indelible  stamp  which  marked 
the  disparity  between  the  social  worlds  to  which  they 
belong'ed.  He  was  convinced,  without  disparaging 
himself,  that  to  attempt  to  win  her  would  be  an  out- 
rage, an  imposition  on  her.  Worse,  it  would  be 
rankly  dishonest 

So  the  man  said  nothing.  All  that  lay  within  his 
heart  he  kept  hidden  far  out  of  sight.  No  chance 
word  or  weak  moment  should  reveal  it.  No  one 
should  ever  know,  least  of  all  Rosebud. 

But  in  all  this  Seth  reckoned  without  his  host. 
Such  glorious  eyes,  such  a  charming  face  as  Rosebud 
possessed  were  not  likely  to  belong  to  a  girl  devoid 
of  the  instincts  of  her  sex.  As  she  grew  up  her  per- 
spective changed.  She  saw  things  in  a  different  light. 
Seth  no  longer  appealed  to  her  as  a  sort  of  uncle,  or 
even  father.  She  saw  in  him  a  young  man  of  me- 
dium good  looks,  a  »trong,  fine  figure.  A  man  who 
had  no  idea  of  the  meaning  of  the  word  fear  ;  a  man 
who  had  a  way  of  saying  and  doing  things  which 
often  made  her  angry,  but  always  made  her  glad  that 
he  said  and  did  them.  Furthermore,  she  soon  learned 
that  he  was  only  twenty-eight.  Therefore,  she  re- 
sented many  things  which  she  had  hitherto  accepted 
as  satisfactory.  She  made  up  her  wilful  mind  that 
it  didn't  please  her  to  call  him  "  Daddy  "  Seth  any 
longer. 

Those  six  years  brought  another  change  ;  a  change 
in  the  life  of  the  wood-cutter  of  White  River.  He 
still  lived  in  his  log  hut,  but  he  had  taken  to  himseJif 


58         THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

a  wife,  the  beautiful  orphaned  daughter  of  Big  Wolf, 
and  sister  of  the  reigning  chief,  Little  Black  Fox. 
Whatever  may  have  been  Nevil  Steyne's  position 
before,  he  was  completely  ostracized  by  his  fellows 
now,  that  is  by  all  but  the  folk  at  White  River  Farm. 
Men  no  longer  suggested  that  he  had  "  taken  the 
blanket "  ;  they  openly  asserted  it. 

The  reason  of  Nevil  Steyne's  toleration  by  the 
White  River  Farm  people  was  curious.  It  was  for 
Rosebud's  sake  ;  Rosebud  and  Wanaha,  the  wife  of 
the  renegade  wood-cutter.  The  latter  was  different 
from  the  rest  of  her  race.  She  was  almost  civiHzed, 
a  woman  of  strong,  honest  character  in  spite  of  her 
upbringing.  And  between  Rosebud  and  this  squaw 
a  strong  friendship  had  sprung  up.  Kindly  Rube 
and  his  wife  could  not  find  it  in  their  hearts  to  inter- 
fere, and  even  Seth  made  no  attempt  to  check  it. 
He  looked  on  and  wondered  without  approval ;  and 
wonder  with  him  quickly  turned  into  keen  obser- 
vation. 

And  it  is  with  this  strange  friendship  that  we  have 
to  deal  now. 

Inside  the  log  hut  on  the  White  River,  Wanaha 
was  standing  before  a  small  iron  cook-stove  preparing 
her  husband's  food.  It  was  the  strangest  sight  im- 
aginable to  see  her  cooking  in  European  fashion. 
Yet  she  did  it  in  no  uncertain  manner.  She  learned 
it  all  because  she  loved  her  white  husband,  just  as 
she  learned  to  speak  English,  and  to  dress  after  the 
manner  of  white  women.     She  went  further.     With 


A  BIRTHDAY  GIFT  59 

the  assistance  of  the  missionary  and  Rosebud  she 
learned  to  read  and  sew,  and  to  care  for  a  house. 
And  all  this  labor  of  a  great  love  brought  her  the 
crowning  glory  of  legitimate  wifehood  with  a  rene- 
gade white  man,  and  the  care  of  a  ding}'  home  that 
no  white  girl  would  have  faced.  But  she  was  happy- 
Happy  beyond  all  her  wildest  dreams  in  the  smoke- 
begrimed  tepee  of  her  father. 

Nevil  Steyne  had  just  returned  from  Beacon  Cross- 
ing, whither  he  had  gone  to  sell  a  load  of  cord-wood, 
and  to  ask  for  mail  at  the  post-office.  Strange  as  it 
may  seem,  this  man  still  received  letters  from  Eng- 
land. But  to-day  he  had  returned  with  only  a  packet 
of  newspapers. 

He  entered  the  hut  without  notice  or  greeting  for 
Wanaha,  who,  in  true  Indian  fashion,  waited  by  the 
cook-stove  for  her  lord  to  speak  first. 

He  passed  over  to  the  bedstead  which  occupied 
the  far  end  of  the  room,  and  sat  himself  down  to  a 
perusal  of  his  papers.  He  was  undoubtedly  preoc- 
cupied and  not  intentionally  unkind  to  the  woman. 

Wanaha  went  steadily  on  with  her  work.  For  her 
this  was  quite  as  it  should  be.  He  would  speak  pres- 
ently.    She  was  satisfied. 

Presently  the  man  flung  his  papers  aside,  and  the 
woman's  deep  eyes  met  his  as  he  looked  across  at 
her. 

"Well,  Wana,"  he  said,  "I've  sold  the  wood  and 
got  orders  for  six  more  cords.     Business  is  booming." 

The  man  spoke  in  English.     Yet  he  spoke  Wana- 


6o        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

ha's  tongue  as  fluently  as  she  did  herself.  Here 
again  the  curious  submissive  nature  of  the  woman 
was  exampled.  He  must  speak  his  own  tongue. 
It  was  not  right  that  he  should  be  forced  to  use 
hers. 

"  I  am  much  happy,"  she  said  simply.  Then  her 
woman's  thought  rose  superior  to  greater  issues. 
"  You  will  eat  ?  "  she  went  on. 

"Yes,  Wana.     I'm  hungry — very." 

"  So."  The  woman*s  eyes  smiled  into  his,  and 
she  eagerly  set  the  food  on  a  table  made  of  packing 
cases. 

Steyne  began  at  once.  He  was  thoughtful  while  he 
ate.  But  after  a  while  he  looked  up,  and  there  was  a 
peculiar  gleam  in  his  blue  eyes  as  they  rested  on  the 
warm,  rich  features  of  his  willing  slave. 

"  Pretty  poor  sort  of  place — this,"  he  said.  "  It's 
not  good  enough  for  you,  my  Wana." 

The  woman  had  seated  herself  on  a  low  stool 
near  the  table.  It  was  one  of  her  few  remaining 
savage  instincts  she  would  not  give  up.  It  was  not 
fitting  that  she  should  eat  with  him. 

"  How  would  you  like  a  house,  a  big  house,  like — 
White  River  Farm  ?  "  he  went  on,  as  though  he  were 
thinking  aloud.  "And  hundreds,  thousands,  o! 
steers  and  cows  ?  And  buggies  to  ride  in  ?  And 
iaim  machinery?  And — and  plenty  of  fine  clothes 
to  wear,  like — like  Rosebud  ?  " 

The  woman  shook  her  head  and  indicated  hex 
humble  belongings. 


A  BIRTHDAY  GIFT  Ci 

"  fhis — ven^  good.  Very  much  good.  See,  you 
are  here.     I  want  you." 

The  man  flushed  and  laughed  a  little  awkwardly. 
But  he  was  well  pleased. 

-  Oh,  we're  happy  enough.  You  and  I,  my  Wana. 
But — we'll  see." 

Wanaha  made  no  comment ;  and  when  his  meat 
was  finished  she  set  a  dish  of  buckwheat  cakes  and 
syrup  before  him. 

He  devoured  them  hungrily,  and  the  woman's 
eyes  grew  soft  with  delight  at  his  evident  pleasure. 

At  last  his  thoughtfulness  passed,  and  he  put  an 
abrupt  question. 

"  Where's  your  brother,  now  ?  " 

"  Litde  Black  Fox  is  by  his  tepee.  He  goes  hunt- 
ing with  another  sun.     Yes?" 

"  I  must  go  and  see  him  this  afternoon.'' 

Steyne  pushed  his  plate  away,  and  proceeded  to 
fill  his  pipe. 

"  Yes  ?  " 

The  expressive  eyes  of  the  woman  had  changed 
again.  His  announcement  seemed  to  give  her  little 
pleasure. 

"  Yes,  I  have  things  to  powwow  with  him." 

"Ah.     Rosebud?     Always  Rosebud?" 

The  man  laughed. 

'*  My  Wana  does  not  like  Little  Black  Fox  to 
;hmk  of  Rosebud,  eh  ?  " 

Wanaha  was  silent  for  a  while.  Then  she  spoke 
in  CL  iow  tone. 


62        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Little  Black  Fox  is  not  wise.  He  is  very  fierce 
No,  I  love  my  brother,  but  Rosebud  must  not  be  his 
squaw.     I  love  Rosebud,  too." 

The  blue  eyes  of  the  man  suddenly  became  very 
hard. 

"  Big  Wolf  captured  Rosebud,  and  would  have 
kept  her  for  your  brother.  Therefore  she  is  his  by 
right  of  war.  Indian  war.  This  Seth  kills  your 
father.  He  says  so.  He  takes  Rosebud.  Is  it 
for  him  to  marry  her  ?  Your  brother  does  not  think 
so." 

Wanaha's  face  was  troubled.  "  It  was  in  war. 
You  said  yourself.  My  brother  could  not  hold  her 
from  the  white  man.  Then  his  right  is  gone.  Be 
sides " 

"Besides ?" 

**  A  chief  may  not  marry  a  white  girl." 

"  You  married  a  white  man." 

"  It  is  different." 

There  was  silence  for  some  time  while  Wanalia. 
cleared  away  the  plates.  Presently,  as  she  was 
bending  over  the  cook-stove,  she  spoke  again.  And 
she  kept  her  face  turned  from  her  husband  while  she 
spoke. 

"  You  want  Rosebud  for  my  brother.     Why  ?  " 

"  I  ?  "  Nevil  laughed  uneasily.  Wanaha  had  a 
way  of  putting  things  very  directly.  "  I  don't  care 
either  way." 

"  Yet  you  pow-wow  with  him  ?  You  say  *  yes " 
when  he  talks  of  Rosebud  ?  " 


I 


A  BIRTHDAY  GIFT  63 

It  was  the  man's  turn  to  look  away,  and  by  doing 
so  he  hid  a  deep  cunning  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  that's  because  Litde  Black  Fox  is  not  an 
easv  man.  He  is  unreasonable.  It  is  no  use  argu- 
ing with  him.  Besides,  they  will  see  he  never  gets 
Rosebud."  He  nodded  in  the  direction  of  White 
River  Farm. 

"  I  have  said  he  is  very  fierce.  He  has  many 
braves.  One  never  knows.  My  brother  longs  for 
the  war-path.  He  would  kill  Seth.  For  Seth  killed 
our  father.  One  never  knows.  It  is  better  you  say 
to  him,  •  Rosebud  is  white.  The  braves  want  no 
white  squaw.'  " 

But  the  man  had  had  enough  of  the  discussion, 
and  began  to  whisde.  It  was  hard  to  understand 
how  he  had  captured  the  loyal  heart  of  this  dusky 
princess.  He  was  neither  good-looking  nor  of  a 
taking  manner.  His  appearance  was  dirty,  un- 
kempt His  fair  hair,  very  thin  and  getting  gray 
at  the  crown,  was  long  and  uncombed,  and  his 
moustache  was  ragged  and  grossly  stained.  Yet 
she  loved  him  with  a  devotion  which  had  made  her 
willing  to  renounce  her  people  for  him  if  necessary, 
and  this  means  far  more  in  a  savage  than  it  does 
amongst  the  white  races. 

Steyne  put  on  his  greasy  slouch  hat  and  swung 
out  of  the  house.  Wanaha  knew  that  what  she  had 
said  was  right,  Nevil  Steyne  encouraged  Litde  Black 
Fox.  She  wondered,  and  was  apprehensive.  Never- 
theless,   she   went  on    with    her   work.     The   royal 


64        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

blood  of  her  race  was  strong  in  her.  She  had  much 
of  the  stoicism  which  is,  perhaps,  the  most  pro- 
nounced feature  of  her  people.  It  was  no  good  say- 
ing more  than  she  had  said.  If  she  saw  necessity 
she  would  do,  and  not  talk. 

She  was  still  in  the  midst  of  her  work  when  a 
sound  caught  her  ear  which  surely  no  one  else  could 
have  heard.  In  response  she  went  to  the  door.  A 
rider,  still  half  a  mile  away,  was  approaching.  She 
went  back  to  her  washing-up,  smiling.  She  had 
recognized  the  rider  even  at  that  distance.  There- 
fore she  was  in  nowise  surprised  when,  a  few  minutes 
later,  she  heard  a  bright,  girlish  voice  hailing  her 
from  without 

"Wana,  Wana!"  The  tone  was  delightfully  im- 
perious. "  Why  don't  you  have  some  place  to  tie  a 
horse  to  ?  " 

It  was  Rosebud.  Wanaha  had  expected  her,  for 
it  was  the  anniversary  of  her  coming  to  White  River 
Farm,  and  the  day  Ma  Sampson  had  allotted  for  her 
birthday. 

Wanaha  went  out  to  meet  her  friend.  This  greet- 
ing had  been  made  a  hundred  times,  on  the  occasion 
of  every  visit  Rosebud  made  to  the  woman's  humble 
home.  It  was  a  little  joke  between  them,  for  there 
was  a  large  iron  hook  high  up  on  the  wall,  just  out 
of  the  girl's  reach,  set  there  for  the  purpose  of  tying 
up  a  horse.  The  squaw  took  the  girl's  reins  from 
her  hands,  and  hitched  them  to  the  hook. 

"  Welcome,"  she  said  in  her  deep  voice,  and  held 


A  BIRTHDAY  GIFT  65 

out  a  liand  to  be  shaken  as  white  folk  shake  hands, 
not  in  the  way  Indians  do  it. 

"  What  is  it  I  must  say  to  you  ?  "  she  went  on,  in 
a  puzzled  way.  "  Oh,  I  know.  '  Much  happy  re- 
turn.' That  is  how  you  tell  me  the  last  time  you 
come," 

The  squaw's  great  black  eyes  wore  their  wonder- 
ful soft  look  as  they  gazed  down  upon  her  visitor. 
It  was  a  strange  contrast  they  made  as  they  stood 
there  in  the  full  light  of  the  summer  afternoon  sun. 

Both  were  extremely  handsome  of  figure,  though 
the  Indian  woman  was  more  natural  and  several 
inches  taller.  But  their  faces  were  opposite  in  every 
detail.  The  squaw  was  dark,  with  clear  velvety 
skin,  and  eyes  black  and  large  and  deeply  lumi- 
nous ;  she  had  a  broad,  intelligent  forehead  over 
which  her  straight  black  hair  fell  from  a  natural 
centre  parting,  and  was  caught  back  from  her  face 
at  about  the  level  of  her  mouth  with  two  bows  of 
deep  red  braid.  Her  features  might  have  been 
chiseled  by  a  sculptor,  they  were  so  perfectly  sym- 
metrical, so  accurately  proportioned.  And  there 
were  times,  too,  when,  even  to  the  eyes  of  a  white 
man,  her  color  rather  enhanced  her  beauty ;  and 
this  was  when  her  slow  smile  crept  over  her  face. 

Rosebud  had  no  classical  regularity  of  feature,  but 
she  had  what  is  better.  Her  face  was  a  series  of 
expressions,  changing  with  almost  even,'  moment  as 
her  swift-passing  moods  urged  her.  One  feature 
she    possessed   that   utterly   eclipsed   anything   the 


66        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

stately  beauty  of  the  other  could  claim.  She  had 
large,  lustrous  violet  eyes  that  seemed  like  wells  of 
ever-changing  color.  They  never  looked  at  you 
with  the  same  shade  in  their  depths  twice.  They 
were  eyes  that  madden  by  reason  of  their  inconsist- 
ency. They  dwarfed  in  beauty  every  other  feature 
in  the  girl's  face.  She  was  pretty  in  an  irregular 
manner,  but  one  never  noticed  anything  in  her  face 
when  her  eyes  were  visible.  These,  and  her  masses 
of  golden  hair,  which  flowed  loosely  about  her  head 
in  thick,  rope-like  curls,  were  her  great  claims  to 
beauty. 

Now,  as  she  stood  smiling  up  into  the  dark  face 
above  her,  she  looked  what  she  was  ;  a  girl  in  the 
flush  of  early  womanhood,  a  prairie  girl,  wild  as  the 
flowers  which  grow  hidden  in  the  lank  grass  of  the 
plains,  as  wayward  as  the  breezes  which  sweep  them 
from  every  point  of  the  compass. 

"  Mayn't  I  come  in  ? "  asked  Rosebud,  as  the 
woman  made  no  move  to  let  her  pass. 

Wanaha  turned  with  some  haste.  "  Surely,"  she 
said.  "  I  was  thinking.     What  you  call  '  dreaming.'  " 

She  eagerly  put  a  stool  for  the  girl  to  sit  upon. 
But  Rosebud  preferred  the  table. 

"  Well,  Wana,"  said  the  girl,  playfully,  "  you  said 
you  wanted  me  particularly  to-day,  so,  at  great  in- 
convenience to  myself,  and  mother,  I  have  come. 
If  it  isn't  important  you'll  get  into  grave  trouble,  1 
was  going   to   help  Seth  hoe  the  potatoes,    but " 

"  Poor  Seth." 


A  BIRTHDAY  GIFT  67 

Wanaha  had  caught  something  of  the  other's  in- 
fectious mood. 

"  I  don't  think  he  needs  any  pity,  either,"  said 
Rosebud,  impulsively.  "  Seth's  sometimes  too  much 
of  a  good  thing.  He  said  I  ought  to  learn  to  hoe. 
And  I  don't  think  hoeing's  very  nice  for  one  thing ; 
besides,  he  always  gets  angry  if  I  cut  out  any  of  the 
plants.     He  can  just  do  it  himself." 

**  Seth's  a  good  man.  He  killed  my  father  ;  but 
he  is  good,  I  think." 

"  Yes."     For  the  moment  Rosebud  had  become 

grave.     "  I    wonder   what   w^ould    have "     She 

broke  off  and  looked  searchingly  into  her  friend's 
face.  "  Wana,"  she  went  on  abruptly,  "  why  did 
you  send  for  me  to-day  ?  I  can't  stay.  I  really 
can't,  I  must  go  back  and  help  Seth,  or  he'll  be  so 
angry." 

Rosebud  quite  ignored  her  own  contradictions,  but 
Wanaha  didn't. 

"  No,  and  it  is  not  good  to  make  Seth  angry.  He 
— what-you-call — he  ver)''  good  by  you.  See,  I  say 
come  to  me.  You  come,  and  I  have — ah — ah,"  she 
broke  off  in  a  bewildered  search  for  a  word.  "  No 
— that  not  it.     So,  I  know.     Birthday  pre — sent." 

Wanaha  gave  a  triumphant  glance  into  Rosebud's 
laughing  face  and  went  to  a  cupboard,  also  made  of 
packing  cases,  and  brought  forth  a  pair  of  moose-hide 
moccasins,  perfectly  beaded  and  trimmed  with  black 
fox  fur.  She  had  made  them  with  her  own  hands 
for  her  little  friend,  a  labor  of  love  into  which  she 


68        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

had  put  the  most  exquisite  work  of  which  she  was 
capable. 

Rosebud's  delight  was  unfeigned.  The  shoes  were 
perfect.  The  leather  was  like  the  finest  kid.  It  was 
a  present  worthy  of  the  giver.  She  held  out  her 
hands  for  them,  but  the  Indian  laughed  and  shook 
her  head. 

"  No,"  she  said  playfully.  "  No,  you  white 
woman  !  Your  folk  not  carry  things  so,"  and  she 
held  the  tiny  shoes  out  at  arm's  length.  "  You  put 
paper  round,  so."  She  picked  up  one  of  her  hus- 
band's newspapers  and  wrapped  the  present  into  a 
clumsy  parcel.  "  There,"  she  exclaimed,  handing  it 
to  the  girl,  "  I  wish  you  much  happy  ! " 

As  she  put  the  parcel  into  the  outstretched  hands, 
Rosebud  sprang  from  the  table  and  flung  her  arms 
round  the  giver's  neck,  and  kissed  her  heartily. 

••  You're  the  dandiest  thing  in  the  world,  Wana," 
she  cried  impulsively,  "  and  I  love  you." 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   NEWSPAPER 

Seth  was  bending  over  his  work  among  the  po- 
tatoes. It  was  a  large  order,  for  there  were  more 
than  five  acres  of  it.  Every  time  he  stood  erect  to 
ease  his  back  he  scanned  the  distance  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  White  River.  Each  time  he  bent  again 
over  his  hoe,  it  was  with  a  dissatisfied  look  on  his 
sunburnt  face.  He  made  up  his  mind  that  Rosebud 
was  playing  truant  again.  He  cared  nothing  for  the 
fact  of  the  truancy,  but  the  direction  in  which  his 
eyes  turned  whenever  he  looked  up  displayed  his 
real  source  of  dissatisfaction.  Rosebud  had  been 
out  since  the  midday  dinner,  and  he  guessed  where 
she  was.  The  mosquitoes  worried  him  to-day,  which 
meant  that  his  temper  was  ruffled. 

Suddenly  he  paused.  But  this  time  he  didn't  look 
round.  He  heard  the  sound  of  galloping  hoofs  rac- 
ing across  the  prairie.  Continuing  his  work,  he 
roughly  estimated  the  distance  the  rider  was  away. 

He  gave  no  sign  at  all  until  Rosebud's  voice  called 
to  him. 

"Seth,  I've  come  to  help  you  hoe,"  she  said. 

The  man  saw  that  the  horse  was  standing  pawing 
the  ground  among  the  potatoes. 


70        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  I  take  it  friendly  of  you,"  he  said,  eyeing  the 
havoc  the  animal  was  creating.  "  Guess  that  horse 
)'  yours  has  intentions  that  aways  too.  They're 
laud'ble,  but  misplaced." 

The  girl  checked  the  creature,  and  turned  him  ofi 
the  patch.  Then  she  quietly  slid  to  the  ground  and 
removed  her  saddle  and  bridle,  and  drove  him  off 
out  on  the  prairie  for  a  roll. 

"  I'm  so  sorry,  Seth  1  I'm  afraid  he's  made  a  mess 
of  these  plants." 

Rosebud  stooped  and  tried  to  repair  the  damage 
her  horse  had  done  She  did  not  look  in  Seth's  di- 
rection, but  her  smiling  face  conveyed  nothing  of  her 
regret.  Presently  she  stood  up  and  stepped  gingerly 
along  the  furrows  toward  the  man. 

"  Did  you  bring  a  hoe  out  for  me  ? "  she  asked 
innocently. 

But  her  companion  was  used  to  the  wiles  of  this 
tyrant. 

"  Guess  not,"  he  said  quiedy.  "  Didn't  reckon 
you'd  get  back  that  soon.  Say,  Rosebud,  you'd 
best  git  out  o'  those  fixin's  if  you're  going  to  git 
busy  with  a  hoe.     Ma  has  her  notions." 

"Ye-es.  Do  you  think  I'm  getting  any  better 
with  a  hoe  ?  " 

The  eyes  that  looked  up  into  Seth's  face  were 
candidly  inquiring.  There  was  not  a  shadow^  of  a 
smile  on  the  man's  face  when  he  answered. 

"  I've  a  notion  you  have  few  equals  with  a  hoe.'* 

*'  I  was  afraid " 


A  NEWSPAPER  71 

•*  Ah,  that's  always  the  way  of  folks  wi'  real  talent 
Guess  you're  an  eddication  with  a  hoe," 

Seth  went  on  with  his  work  until  Rosebud  spoke 
again.  She  was  looking  away  out  across  the  prairie, 
and  her  eyes  were  just  a  trifle  troubled. 

"  Then  I'd  best  get  my  things  changed  and — bring 
out  a  hoe.  How  many  rows  do  you  think  I  could  do 
before  tea?" 

"  That  mostly  depends  on  how  many  p'tater  plants 
git  in  your  way,  I  guess." 

The  girl's  face  suddenly  wreathed  itself  in 
smiles. 

"There,  you're  laughing  at  me,  and — well,  I  was 
going  to  help  you,  but  now  I  shan't.  I've  been 
down  to  see  my  Wanaha.  Seth,  you  ought  to  have 
married  her.  She's  the  sweetest  creature — except 
Ma — I  know.  I  think  it's  a  pity  she  married  Nevil 
Steyne,  He's  a  queer  fellow.  I  never  know  what 
to  make  of  him.  He's  kind  to  her,  and  he's  kind  to 
me — which  I'm  not  sure  I  like — but  I  somehow 
don't  hke  his  eyes.  They're  blue,  and  I  don't  like 
blue  eyes.  And  I  don't  believe  he  ever  washes. 
Do  you  ?  " 

Seth  replied  without  pausing  in  his  work.  He 
even  seemed  to  put  more  force  into  it,  for  the  hoe 
cut  into  the  earth  with  a  vicious  ring .  But  he 
avoided    her   direct   challenge. 

"  Guess  I  haven't  a  heap  of  regard  for  no  Injuns 
nor  squaws.  I've  no  call  to.  But  I  allow  Wanaha's 
a  crood  woman." 


72        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Just  for  a  moment  the  girl's  face  became  verj 
serious. 

"I'm  glad  you  say  that,  Seth.  I  knew  you 
wouldn't  say  anything  else ;  you're  too  generous. 
Wanaha  is  good.  Do  you  know  she  goes  to  the 
Mission  because  she  loves  it?  She  helps  us  teach 
the  little  papooses  because  she  believes  in  the  '  God 
of  the  white  folks,'  she  says.  I  know  you  don't  Like 
me  to  see  so  much  of  her,  but  somehow  I  can't  help 
it.     Seth,  do  you  beUeve  in  foreboding?" 

**  Can't  say  I'd  gamble  a  heap  that  a  ways." 

''Well,  I  don't  know,  but  I  believe  it's  a  good 
thing  that  Wanaha  loves  me — loves  us  all.  She  has 
such  an  influence  over  people." 

Seth  looked  up  at  last.  The  serious  tone  of  the 
girl  was  unusual.  But  as  he  said  nothing,  and 
simply  went  on  with  his  work,  Rosebud  continued. 

"  Sometimes  1  can't  understand  you,  Seth.  I 
know,  generally  speaking,  you  have  no  cause  to 
like  Indians,  while  perhaps  I  have.  You  see,  I  have 
always  known  them.  But  you  seem  to  have  taken 
exception  only  to  Little  Black  Fox  and  Wanaha  as 
far  as  I  am  concerned.  You  let  me  teach  the  Mis- 
sion children,  you  even  teach  them  yourself,  yet, 
while  admitting  Wanaha's  goodness,  you  get  angry 
with  me  for  seeing  her.  As  for  Little  Black  Fox,  he 
is  the  chief.  He's  a  great  warrior,  and  acknowl- 
edged by  even  the  agent  and  missionary  to  be  the 
best  chief  the  Rosebuds  have  ever  had.  Quite  differ- 
ent from  his  father." 


A  NEWSPAPER  73 

*  Guess  that's  so." 

"Then  why — may  1  not  talk  to  them?  And,  oh, 
Seth  " — the  girl's  eyes  danced  with  mischief — "  he  is 
such  a  romantic  fellow.  You  should  hear  him  talk 
in  English.  He  talks — well,  he  has  much  more 
poetry  in  him  than  you  have." 

"  Which  is  mostly  a  form  of  craziness,"  observed 
Seth,  quite  unrufBed. 

"  Well,  I  like  craziness." 

"  Ah  ! " 

Seth's  occasional  lapses  into  monosyllables  an- 
noyed Rosebud.  She  never  understood  them.  Now 
there  came  a  gleam  of  anger  into  her  eyes,  and 
their  color  seemed  to  have  changed  to  a  hard 
gray. 

"  Well,  whether  you  like  it  or  not,  you  needn't  be 
so  ill-tempered  about  it." 

Seth  looked  up  in  real  astonishment  at  this  un- 
warrantable charge,  and  his  dark  eyes  twinkled  as 
he  beheld  Rosebud's  own  evident  anger. 

He  shook  his  head  regretfully,  and  cut  out  a  bunch 
of  weeds  with  his  hoe. 

"  Guess  I'm  pretty  mean,"  he  said,  implying  that 
her  assertion  was  correct. 

"  Yes."  Rosebud's  anger  was  like  all  her  moods, 
swift  rising  and  as  swift  to  pass.  Now  it  was  ap- 
proaching its  zenith.  "  And  to  show  you  how  good 
Wanaha  is,  look  at  this."  She  unfolded  her  parcel 
and  threw  the  paper  down,  disclosing  the  perfect 
moccasins  the  Indian  had  made  for  her.     "  Aren't 


74        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

they  lovely  ?  She  didn't  forget  it  was  my  birthday, 
like— like " 

*'  Ah,  so  it  is."  Seth  spoke  as  though  he  had  just 
realized  the  fact  of  her  birthday. 

"Aren't  they  lovely?"  reiterated  the  girl.  Hei 
anger  had  passed.     She  was  all  smiles  again. 

"  Indian,"  said  Seth,  with  a  curious  click  of  the 
tongue,  which  Rosebud  was  quick  to  interpret  into 
an  expression  of  scorn. 

"  Yes,"  she  exclaimed,  firing  up  again,  and  her 
eyes  sparkling.  "And  I  like  Indian  things,  and  I  like 
Indian  people,  and  I  like  Little  Black  Fox.  He's 
nice,  and  isn't  always  sneering.  And  I  shall  see 
them  all  when  I  like.  And — and  you  can  do  the 
hoeing  yourself." 

She  walked  ofT  toward  the  house  without  the  least 
regard  for  the  potatoes,  which  now  suffered  indis- 
criminately. Her  golden  head  was  held  very  high, 
but  she  had  less  dignity  than  she  thought,  for  she 
stumbled  in  the  furrows  as  she  went. 

She  went  straight  into  the  house  and  up  to  her 
room  ;  but  she  could  not  fling  herself  upon  her  bed 
and  cry,  as  she  probably  intended  to  do.  Three 
large  parcels  occupied  its  entire  narrow  limits. 
Each  was  addressed  to  her,  wishing  her  all  happi- 
ness on  her  birthday,  and  the  biggest  of  the  three 
was  from  Seth.  So,  failing  room  anywhere  else,  she 
sat  in  her  rocking-chair,  and,  instead  of  an  angry 
outburst,  she  shed  a  few  quiet,  happy  tears.  |( 

Meanwhile  Seth  continued  his  work  as  though 


A  NEWSPAPER  75 

nothing  had  interrupted  him.  It  was  not  until 
supper-time,  and  he  \yd.s  making  his  way  to  the 
house,  that  he  happened  to  observe  the  newspaper 
which  Rosebud  had  left  lying  among  the  potatoes. 
He  stepped  across  the  intervening  furrows  and 
picked  it  up.  Newspapers  always  interested  him, 
he  saw  so  few. 

This  one,  he  saw  at  once,  was  an  English  paper. 
And  from  London  at  that.  He  glanced  at  the  date, 
and  saw  that  was  nearly  a  month  old,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  he  saw  that  it  was  addressed  to  Nevil 
Steyne,  and  beside  the  address  was  a  note  in  blue 
I>encil,  "  Page  3." 

His  curiosity  was  aroused,  and  he  turned  over  to 
the  page  indicated.  There  was  a  long  paragraph 
marked  by  four  blue  crosses.     It  was  headed  — 

"The  Estate  of  the  Missing  Colonel  Raynor." 

Seth  read  the  first  few  lines  casually.  Then,  as 
he  went  on,  a  curious  look  crept  into  his  dark  eyes, 
his  clean-shaven  face  took  on  an  expression  of 
strained  interest,  and  his  lips  closed  until  they  were 
lost  in  a  straight  line  which  drew  down  at  the  comers 
of  his  mouth.  He  read  on  to  the  end,  and  then 
quietly  folded  up  the  paper,  and  stufTed  it  into  the 
bosom  of  his  shirt.  Once  he  turned  and  looked 
away  in  the  direction  in  which  Nevil  Steyne's  hut 
lay  tucked  away  on  the  river  bank.  Then  he  shoul- 
dered his  hoe  and  strolled  leisurely  homeward. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AN   INDIAN   POW-WOW 

Nevil  Steyne  was  indifferent  to  such  blessings 
as  a  refreshing  thunder-shower  at  sundown  on  a  hot 
summer's  day.  It  is  doubtful  if  he  would  have  ad- 
mitted the  beneficence  of  Providence  in  thus  alleviat- 
ing the  parching  heat  of  the  day.  He  had  no  crops 
to  think  of,  which  made  all  the  difference.  Now,  as 
he  walked  along  through  the  brush  on  the  north  bank 
of  the  White  River,  in  the  direction  of  the  log  bridge, 
with  the  dripping  trees  splashing  all  round  him,  and 
his  boots  clogging  with  the  heavy,  wet  loam,  he 
openly  cursed  the  half-hour's  drenching.  His  vin- 
dictiveness  was  in  no  way  half-measured.  He  cursed 
those  who  were  glad  of  it,  and  who,  when  in  direst 
necessity,  occasionally  remembered  to  offer  up 
prayers  for  it. 

This  man  had  no  love  for  the  woods;  no  love 
even  for  the  prairie,  or  his  life  on  it.  He  lived  a 
grudging  existence.  From  his  manner  nothing  in 
life  seemed  to  give  him  real  joy.  But  there  is  no 
doubt  but  that  he  had  purpose  of  a  sort  which  had 
much  to  do  with  his  associations  with  his  Indian 
neighbors.  With  him  purpose  served  for  everything 
else,  and  made  existence  tolerable. 

There  was  purpose  in  his  movements  now.     He 


AN  INDIAN  POVV-WOW  yj 

could  just  as  easily  have  made  his  way  to  the  bridge 
through  the  open,  but  he  chose  the  woods,  and  put 
up  with  the  wet  while  he  railed  at  it.  And  there  was 
some  haste  in  his  slouching,  loose-jointed  gait  which 
gave  to  his  journey  a.  suggestion  of  furtiveness. 

At  the  bridge  he  paused,  gave  a  quick  look  round, 
and  then  crossed  it  more  rapidly  still.  For  at  this 
point  he  was  in  full  view  of  the  prairie.  Once  on  the 
Indian  Reservation,  which  began  beyon  i  the  bridge, 
he  again  took  to  the  cover  the  park-like  land  af- 
forded him.  Nor  did  he  appear  again  in  the  open 
until  he  had  passed  the  Mission  and  the  Agency 

Once  clear  of  these,  however,  he  gave  no  more 
heed  to  secrecy,  and  walked  boldly  along  open  paths 
in  the  full,  bright  evening  light.  He  passed  in  and 
out  among  the  scattered  tepees,  speaking  a  word 
here  and  there  to  the  men  as  he  passed,  or  nodding 
a  greeting.  The  latter  being  the  more  frequent  of 
the  two,  for  the  Indian  is  a  silent  man. 

The  life  amidst  which  he  was  walking  was  too 
familiar  to  cause  such  a  man  as  he  any  unusual  in- 
terest. Perhaps  it  was  because  he  felt  he  had  a  cer- 
tain underhand  power  with  these  people  ;  like  a  per- 
son who  loses  interest  in  the  thing  which  he  has  mas- 
tered. Certain  it  is  that  the  busy  homes  he  beheld 
were  all  unnoticed.  The  smoke-begrimed  tepees 
with  their  great  wooden  trailers  propped  against 
them  ;  the  strings  of  drying  meats  stretching  along 
under  the  boughs  of  adjacent  trees.  The  bucks  hud- 
dled,  in    spite  of  the   warmth   of  summer,  in   th.-ir 


78        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

parti-colored  blankets,  gazing  indolently  at  theii 
squaws  pounding  the  early  berries  into  a  sort  of 
muddy  preserve,  or  dressing  a  skin  for  manufacture 
into  leggings,  moccasins,  or  buckskin  shirt.  He 
gave  no  heed  to  the  swarms  of  papooses,  like  so 
many  flies  buzzing  round  the  tepees,  whooping  in 
imitation  of  their  father  braves,  or  amusing  them- 
selves with  the  pursuit  of  one  of  the  many  currish 
camp  dogs,  which,  from  their  earliest  years,  they  love 
to  persecute  to  the  limits  of  the  poor  beasts'  endur- 
ance. The  totem  poles  with  their  hideous  carved 
heads  had  no  meaning  for  him,  just  as  the  dried 
scalps  which  hung  from  the  tepee  poles  might  have 
been  rabbit  skins  for  all  he  thought  of  them. 

Just  now  his  purpose  was  to  reach  the  house  of 
Little  Black  Fox,  and  this  he  came  to  at  last.  It  was 
a  large  building ;  next  to  the  Mission  and  Agency  it 
was  by  far  the  largest  house  on  the  Reservation.  It 
was  built  of  logs  and  thatch  and  plaster,  and  backed 
into  a  thick  clump  of  shady  maple  trees.  The  son  was 
more  lavish  than  the  father.  Big  Wolf  had  always 
been  content  to  live  in  a  tepee.  He  was  an  older 
type  of  chief.  The  son  moved  with  the  times  and 
was  given  to  display. 

Nevil  raised  the  latch  of  the  door  and  walked  in, 
and  his  manner  was  that  of  a  privileged  visitor.  He 
entered  the  spacious  living-room  without  word  for 
those  he  beheld  gathered  there.  He  walked  to  a 
certain  vacant  place,  and  sat  down  upon  the  mud 
floor.     It  was  at  once  plain  that  he  had  been  ex- 


AN  INDIAN  POW-VVOVV  79 

pected.  More,  it  was  evident  that  he  belonged  by 
right  to  that  gathering. 

Despite  the  display  in  the  dimensions  of  Little 
Black  Fox's  house  the  interior  revealed  the  old  sav- 
age. There  was  nothing  civilized  about  the  council- 
chamber.  There  was  the  central  fire  of  smouldering 
logs,  without  which  no  Indian  can  exist  in  summer 
or  winter.  The  smoke  passed  out  through  a  square 
chimney  in  the  middle  of  the  roof. 

In  a  large  circle  the  chief's  councilors  sat  perched 
upon  their  haunches  and  swathed  in  their  blankets. 
There  was  not  a  seat  or  table  there.  They  sat  in 
their  councils  as  their  forefathers  had  done  before 
them,  their  leader  in  their  midst  with  nothing  but  his 
youth  to  distinguish  him  from  those  who  were  his 
subjects. 

The  debate  proceeded  in  its  spasmodic  fashion. 
There  was  no  haste,  no  heat  like  in  the  debates  of 
civilized  folk.  Each  man  was  listened  to  in  respect- 
ful silence,  which  might  have  served  as  an  example 
to  modern  legislatures.  Nevil  spoke  like  the  rest  in 
their  low,  musical  tongue.  Whenever  he  spoke  it 
was  noticeable  that  the  great,  wild  eyes  of  the  chief 
were  turned  upon  him  with  interest.  But  even  he 
seemed  a  mere  unit  in  the  debate,  no  more  and  no 
less,  unless  it  were  that  Little  Black  Fox  was  more 
influenced  by  what  he  said  than  by  what  was  said  by 
the  others. 

At  length,  well  on  into  the  night,  the  meeting  drew 
to  a  close.     The  business  in  hand  had  been  threshed 


So        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

out  and  a  decision  arrived  at.  The  warriors  and  the 
men  of  "  medicine "  filed  slowly  out.  Even  in  this 
there  was  a  certain  formality  and  precedence.  Each 
man  addressed  his  chief,  shook  hands,  and  passed 
through  the  door.     And  no  two  went  out  together. 

When  the  last  had  gone  Nevil  and  the  chief  re- 
mained alone  in  the  bare  room.  Little  Black  Fox 
rose  from  his  pile  of  skins  and  stood  erect.  He  was 
a  mere  youth,  but  of  such  shape  and  appearance  that 
one  could  easily  understand  the  epithet  "  romantic  " 
Rosebud  had  applied  to  him.  He  stood  at  least  four 
inches  over  six  feet,  and  dwarfed  even  Nevil's  height 
But  it  was  in  the  perfect  symmetry  of  his  lithe,  sin- 
uous body,  and  the  keen,  handsome,  high-caste  face 
where  his  attractions  lay. 

His  eyes  were  the  eyes  of  the  untamed  savage,  but 
of  a  man  capable  of  great  thought  as  well  as  great 
reckless  courage.  There  was  nothing  sinister  in 
them,  but  they  were  glowing,  Hve  eyes  which  might 
blaze  or  soften  in  two  succeeding  moments,  which 
exactly  expresses  the  man's  character.  He  was 
handsome  as  Indian  men  go.  Not  like  the  women. 
They  are  often  beautiful  in  a  way  that  appeals  to  any 
artistic  eye,  but  the  men  are  a  type  for  study  before 
they  can  be  appreciated. 

This  chief  was  in  the  first  flush  of  manhood,  and 
had  attained  nothing  of  the  seared,  bloated  appear- 
ance which  comes  to  the  Indian  later  in  life.  His 
face  was  almost  as  delicately  chiseled  as  his  sister's, 
but  it  was  strong  as  well  as  high  caste.     The  eagle 


AN  INDIAN  POW-WOW  8i 

beakishness  of  his  nose  matched  the  flashing  black 
eves.  His  mouth  was  sensitive  and  clean-cut.  His 
forehead  was  high  and  broad,  and  his  cheeks  were 
delicately  round. 

Nevil  became  a  wretched,  unkempt  type  of  man- 
hood in  comparison.  In  form,  at  least,  this  chief  of 
twenty-one  years  was  a  veritable  king. 

He  smiled  on  his  white  councilor  when  the  last  of 
his  own  people  had  departed.  He  thrust  out  a  slim, 
strong  hand,  and  the  two  men  shook  hands  heartily. 

"  It  is  slow  with  many  in  council,"  the  chief  said, 
in  his  own  smooth-flowing  tongue.  "  You,  white 
man,  and  I  can  settle  matters  quickly.  Quicker 
than  these  wise  men  of  my  father." 

There  was  a  flash  of  impatience  in  his  speaking 
eyes.     Nevil  nodded  approval. 

•*  They  think  much  before  they  speak,"  he  replied, 
in  the  language  in  which  he  had  been  addressed. 
He,  too,  smiled  ;  and  in  their  manner  toward  each 
other  it  was  plain  the  excellent  understanding  they 
were  on. 

•*  Sit,  my  white  brother,  we  have  many  things  for 
talk.  Even  we,  like  those  others,  must  sit  if  we 
would  pow-wow  well.  It  is  good.  Sit."  Little 
Black  Fox  laughed  shortly,  conceiving  himself 
superior  in  thought  to  the  older  generation  of  wise 
men.  He  was  possessed  of  all  the  vanity  of  his 
years. 

Thev  both  returned  to  the  ground,  and  the  chief 
kicked  together  the  embers  of  the  council-fire. 


82  '      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Teli  me,  brother,  of  Wanaha,"  this  still  unproved 
warrior  went  on,  in  an  even,  indifferent  voice  ;  "  she 
who  was  the  Hght  of  our  father's  eyes  ;  she  who  has 
the  wisdom  of  the  rattlesnake,  and  the  gentle  heart 
of  the  summer  moon." 

"  She  is  well."  Nevil  was  not  expansive.  He 
knew  the  man  had  other  things  to  talk  of,  and  he 
wanted  him  to  talk. 

"  Ah.     And  all  the  friends  of  my  white  brother  ?  '' 

The  face  smiled,  but  the  eyes  were  keenly  alight. 

"  They  are  well.     And  Rosebud " 

"  Ah." 

"She  grows  fairer  every  day." 

There  was  a  truly  Indian  pause.  The  fire  sput- 
tered and  cast  shadows  upon  the  dark,  bare  walls 
The  two  men  gazed  thoughtfully  into  the  litde  fiame 
which  vauntingly  struggled  to  rear  itself  in  the  dense 
atmosphere.     At  last  the  Indian  spoke. 

"  That  man  who  killed  my  father  is  a  great  brave." 

"  Yes,"  nodded  Nevil,  with  a  reflecdve  smile  in  his 
pale  eyes  "  And  Rosebud  is  a  ripe  woman.  Beau- 
tiful as  the  flower  which  is  her  name." 

"  Hah  ! "  Then  the  Indian  said  slowly  with  an 
assumed  indifference,  "  She  will  be  his  squaw.  This 
white  brave." 

"  That  is  how  they  say."  It  might  have  puzzled 
Nevil  to  apply  names  to  those  represented  by 
"  they."  "  He  is  a  great  brave,  truly.  He  fought 
for  her.  He  killed  your  father.  That  is  how  these 
things  go.     She  is  for  him  surely." 


AN  INDIAN  POVV-WOVV  83 

A  frown  had  settled  on  the  fierce  young  chief's 
Jace. 

"  My  father  was  old, '  he  said. 

Nevil  glanced  at  the  speaker  out  of  the  corner  ot 
nis  eyes,  and  then  continued  his  watch  on  the  ilame 
still  struggling  so  ardently  to  devour  the  half-green 
wood.     He  knew  when  to  hold  his  tongue. 

•'  Yes,"  the  young  man  went  on.  "  My  father  was 
a  wise  chief,  but  he  was  old — too  old.  Why  did  he 
keep  the  white  girl  alive?" 

"He  took  her  for  you.  You  only  had  fifteen 
summers.  The  white  girl  had  eleven  or  thereabouts. 
He  was  wise.     It  was  good  med'cine." 

Then  the  chief  stirred  himself.  And  Xevil,  who 
lost  no  movement  on  the  other's  part,  detected  the 
resdess  action  of  one  who  chafes  under  his  thought. 
Litde  Black  Fox  prefixed  his  next  remark  with 
another  short  laugh. 

"  My  people  love  peace  now.  It  is  good.  So  good 
that  your  people  come  and  teach  us.  They  show  our 
squaws  how  to  make  things  like  the  white  squaws 
make.  And  the  papooses  forget  our  tongue,  and 
they  make  words  out  of  strange  drawings  which  the 
white  med'cine  man  makes  on  a  board.  Tchah  i 
We  forget  our  fathers.  We  feed  when  your  people 
give  us  food,  and  our  young  men  are  made  to 
plough.  We  only  hunt  when  we  are  told  to  hunt 
Our  life  is  easy,  but  it  is  not  a  brave's  life." 

Nevil  nodded,  and  chose  his  reply  carefully. 

"So,"  he  said,  "it  is  a  life  of  ease.     You  choose 


84        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

your  life.  And  naturally  you  choose  a  life  where 
you  have  all  you  want,  and  do  not  have  to  trouble. 
After  all,  what  is  the  old  life  ?  A  life  of  much  danger, 
and  litde  ease.  You  fight,  you  kill,  or  you  are  killed 
You  risk  much  and  gain  little.  But  you  are  men, 
brave  men,  great  warriors,  I  grant  you.  And  the 
squaws  like  brave  men — even  white  squaws.  But  I 
say  it  is  wise,  though  not  brave,  to  live  in  the  tepee. 
It  is  so  easy.  Your  braves  have  their  squaws  always 
with  them.  They  grow  fat  till  their  sides  shake. 
They  no  longer  care  to  hunt.  Why  should  they  ? 
Many  papooses  come,  and  they  grow  up  like  their 
fathers.  There  are  no  Sun-Dances  to  make  braves, 
because  none  want  to  be  braves.  There  are  no 
Ghost-Dances,  because  the  white  men  keep  the  Evil 
Spirits  away,  and  there  is  no  need.  So.  The  Indian 
lies  upon  his  blankets,  and  he  lives  with  the  squaw 
always.  They  all  become  squaw-men.  Never  was 
there  such  peace  for  the  Indian." 

Nevil  had  drawn  his  peaceful  picture  with  care ; 
also  the  tail  of  his  eye  told  him  that  his  companion 
was  listening.  And  his  movements,  every  now  and 
then,  had  in  them  something  of  the  spasmodic  move- 
ments of  a  chained  wild  beast.  This  lithe  youth  had 
certain  resemblance  to  the  puma.  He  seemed  to 
bum  with  a  restless  craving  spirit.  The  puma  never 
ceases  to  seek  his  prey.  This  man  would  be  the 
same  were  he  once  to  begin. 

"Yes.  You  say  well,"  he  observed  moodily,  "we 
are  all  squaw-men.     The  white  squaws  love  braves, 


AN  INDIAN  POW-WOW  85 

you  say.  I  know  all  squaws  love  braves.  The 
squaws  of  our  people  will  soon  spit  in  our  faces." 

"  You  have  no  squaw  to  do  that,"  observed  Nevil. 
bending  over  and  pushing  the  fire  together. 

"No." 

"  You  are  chief.     You  should  have  many.'' 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  give  the  word  to  your  people  and  you  can 
have  them." 

"  I  do  not  want  them — yet." 

Nevil  looked  round.  The  chief  turned  to  the  fire 
uncertainly.     His  fierce  eyes  were  half  veiled. 

•'  This  Rosebud,  she  was  for  me,"  he  went  on. 
"  She  is  fair  as  the  summer  sky.  Her  eyes  are  like 
the  stars,  and  her  laugh  is  like  the  ripple  of  the 
waters  when  the  sun  and  the  wind  make  play  with 
them.  She  is  so  fair  that  no  squaw  can  compare 
with  her.     Even  Wanaha  is  as  night  to  day." 

"  You  cannot  have  her.  She  is  for  the  man  who 
killed  your  father." 

The  young  chief  leapt  to  his  feet  with  a  cry  that 
told  of  a  spirit  which  could  no  longer  be  restrained. 
And  he  towered  threateningly  over  the  undisturbed 
wood-cutter. 

"  But  I  will !  "  he  cried  vehemently,  while  his  eyes 
flashed  in  the  dying  light  of  the  fire.  "  You  are  my 
white  brother,  and  to  you  I  can  say  what  is  in  my 
thoughts.  This  squaw,  I  love  her.  I  burn  for  her  1 
She  is  with  me  night  and  day.  I  will  have  her,  I 
tell  you !     There  shall  be  no  peace  till  my  father  is 


86        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

avenged.  Ha,  ha  ! "  And  the  ferocity  of  that  laugh 
brought  a  smile  to  the  hidden  lips  of  the  listening 
man. 

He  looked  up  now,  and  his  words  came  thought- 
fully. 

"  You  are  a  great  chief,  Litde  Black  Fox,"  he  said. 
"  But,  see,  there  is  no  need  to  go  on  the  war-path 
Sit,  like  those  wise  councilors  of  yours.  It  is  good 
to  pow-wow." 

The  headstrong  youth  sat  down  again,  and  the 
pow-wow  went  forward.  It  was  daylight  again  when 
Nevil  returned  to  Wanaha.  For  Indian  pow-wows 
are  slow  moving,  ponderous  things,  and  Little  Black 
Fox  was  no  better  than  the  rest  of  his  race  when 
deliberations  of  grave  import  were  on. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SETH  WASHES  A   HANDKERCHIEF 

Seth  was  not  in  the  habit  of  making  very  frequent 
visits  to  Beacon  Crossing.  For  one  thing  there  was 
always  plenty  to  do  at  the  farm.  For  another  the 
attractions  of  the  fledghng  city  were  pecuHarly  suited 
to  idle  folk,  or  folk  who  had  money  to  spend.  And 
this  man  was  neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 

White  River  Farm  was  a  prosperous  farm,  but  it 
was  still  in  that  condition  when  its  possibilities  were 
not  fully  developed,  and,  like  the  thrifty,  foresighted 
farmers  Rube  and  his  adopted  son  were,  they  were 
content  to  invest  every  available  cent  of  profit  in 
improvements.  Consequently,  when  the  latter  did 
find  his  way  to  Roiheim's  hotel  it  was  always  with  a 
definite  purpose  ;  a  purpose  as  necessary  as  any  of 
his  duties  in  his  day's  labor. 

Riding  into  the  township  one  evening  he  made 
straight  for  the  hotel,  and,  refusing  the  stablehand's 
offer  of  care  for  his  horse,  sat  down  quietly  on  the 
verandah  and  lit  his  pipe.  Beyond  the  loungers  in 
the  saloon  and  old  Louis  Roiheim  no  one  worth  any 
remark  approached  him.  He  sat  watching  the 
passers-bv,  but  went  on  smoking  idly.  There  were 
some  children  playing  a  sort  of  "  King-of-the-Casde" 


88         THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

game  on  a  heap  of  ballast  lying  beside  the  track, 
and  these  seemed  to  interest  him  most  The  sheriff 
stopped  and  spoke  to  him,  but  beyond  a  monosyl- 
labic reply  and  a  nod  Seth  gave  him  no  encourage- 
ment to  stop.  An  Indian  on  a  big,  raw-boned 
broncho  came  leisurely  down  the  road  and  passed 
the  hotel,  leaving  the  township  by  the  southern  trail 
Seth  waited  until  the  sun  had  set.  Then  he 
stepped  off  the  verandah  and  tightened  the  cinches 
of  his  saddle,  and  readjusted  the  neatly  rolled  blanket 
tied  at  the  cantle.  The  proprietor  of  the  hotel  was 
lounging  against  one  of  the  posts  which  supported 
the  verandah. 

"  Goin'  ?  "  he*  asked  indifferently.     Seth  was  not  a 
profitable  customer. 
"  Yes." 
"Home?" 
"  No.     So  long." 

Seth  swung  into  the  saddle  and  rode  off.  And  he, 
too,  passed  out  of  the  town  over  the  southern  trail. 

Later  he  overhauled  the  Indian.  It  was  Jim  Crow, 
the  chief  of  the  Indian  police. 

"Where  do  we  sleep  to-night?"  he  asked,  after 
greeting  the  man. 

Jim  Crow,  like  all  his  race  who  worked  for  the 
government,  never  spoke  his  own  language  except 
when  necessary.  But  he  still  retained  his  inclination 
to  signs.  Now  he  made  a  movement  suggestive  of 
three  rises  of  land,  and  finished  up  with  the  word 
"  Tepee." 


SETH  WASHES  A  HANDKERCHIEF        89 

'■'  I  must  get  back  the  day  after  to-morrow,"  Seth 
said.  "  Guess  I'll  hit  back  through  the  Reservations. 
I  want  to  see  Parker." 

"  Good,"  said  the  Indian,  and  relapsed  into  that 
companionable  silence  which  all  prairie  men,  whether 
Indian  or  white,  so  well  understand. 

That  night  the  two  men  sheltered  in  the  tepee  be- 
longing to  Jim  Crow.  It  was  well  off  the  Reserva- 
tion, and  was  never  pitched  in  the  same  place  two 
nights  running.  Jim  Crow's  squaw  looked  after  that. 
She  moved  about,  acting  under  her  man's  orders, 
while  the  scout  went  about  his  business. 

After  supper  a  long  talk  proceeded.  Seth  became 
expansive,  but  it  was  the  Indian  who  gave  informa- 
tion. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  a  question  the  white 
man  had  put.  "  I  find  it  after  much  time.  Sa-sa- 
mai,  my  squaw.  She  find  it  from  old  brave.  See 
you.  Big  Wolf  and  all  the  braves  who  come  out 
this  way,  you  make  much  shoot.  So.  They  ah 
kill.  'Cep'  this  one  ol'  brave.  He  live  quiet  an'  say 
nothing  Why  ?  I  not  say.  Some  one  tell  him  say 
nothing.  See?  This  Big  Wolf.  Before  you  kill 
him  maybe.  So  he  not  say.  Bimeby  Sa-sa-mai, 
she  much  'cute.  She  talk  ol'  brave.  Him  very  ol'. 
So  she  learn,  an'  I  go.  I  show  you.  You  give  me 
fi'  dollar,  then  I,  too,  say  nothing." 

"Ah."  Seth  pulled  out  a  five-dollar  bill  and 
handed  it  to  the  scout,  and  went  on  smoking.  Pres- 
ently he  asked,  "  Have  you  been  there  ?  " 


90        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  No."  Jim  Crow  smiled  blandly.  He  had  the 
truly  Indian  ambiguity  of  expression. 

"Then  you  don't  know  if  there's  any  traces,  I 
guess." 

"  See.  I  go  dis  place.  Little  Black  Fox  hear. 
He  hear  all.  So.  There  are  devils  on  the  Reserva- 
tion. Jim  Crow  much  watched.  So.  They  know. 
These  red  devils." 

Seth  noted  the  man's  air  of  pride.  He  was  keenly 
alive  to  his  own  importance  and  exaggerated  it, 
which  is  the  way  of  his  class.  Jim  Crow  was  a 
treacherous  rascal,  but  it  paid  him  to  work  for  the 
white  folk.  He  would  work  for  the  other  side  just 
as  readily  if  it  paid  him  better. 

"  That's  so,"  observed  Seth,  seriously ;  but  it  was 
his  pipe  that  absorbed  his  attention.  "  Wal,  to-mor- 
row, I  guess,"  he  added  after  a  while.  And,  knocking 
his  pipe  out,  he  rolled  over  on  his  blanket  and  slept. 

On  the  morrow  the  journey  was  continued,  and  at 
sundown  they  neared  the  great  valley  of  the  Mis- 
souri. Their  route  lay  over  a  trail  which  headed 
southeast,  in  the  direction  of  Sioux  City.  The  sun 
had  just  dropped  below  the  horizon  when  Jim  Crow 
suddenly  drew  rein.  Whatever  character  he  might 
bear  as  a  man  he  was  a  master  scout.  He  had  a 
knowledge  and  instinct  far  greater  than  that  of  a 
bloodhound  on  a  hot  scent.  He  glanced  around 
him,  taking  in  the  lay  of  the  land  at  every  point  of 
the  compass.  Then  he  finally  pointed  at  a  brush 
growing  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the  trail. 


SETH  WASHES  A  HANDKERCHIEF        91 

"  The  bluff,''  he  said.  "  It  may  be  what  we  look 
for.     Sa-sa-mai,  she  tell  me.     Ovv." 

The  last  was  a  grunt  which  expressed  assurance. 

The  horses  left  the  trail  for  the  prairie.  The  eyes 
of  both  men  were  turned  upon  the  ground,  which  is 
the  habit  of  such  men  when  out  on  the  trail.  It  is 
the  soil  over  which  the  prairie  man  passes  which  is 
the  book.     The  general  scene  is  only  the  illustration. 

At  the  bluff  the  men  dismounted.  Seth  now  took 
the  lead.  He  did  not  plunge  haphazard  into  his 
search.  He  still  studied  the  brush  and  the  ground. 
But  it  was  the  scout  whose  trained  instincts  were  the 
first  to  discover  the  signs  they  sought.  And  he 
found  it  in  the  dead,  broken  twigs  which  marked  the 
course  of  a  wagon. 

The  two  followed  the  lead ;  followed  it  unerringly. 
With  every  foot  of  the  way  the  task  became  easier. 
Once  they  had  turned  the  cover  the  book  had  become 
the  simplest  reading.  In  a  few  minutes  they  came 
to  a  clearing  well  screened  from  the  road.  Now 
they  parted  company.  The  scout  went  on  toward 
the  water  further  on,  but  the  white  man  turned  to 
the  clearing.  Herein  was  displayed  the  difference 
in  the  men.  Seth  had  come  to  the  point  where 
imagination  served  him.  The  other  was  only  a 
craftsman. 

The  grass  was  tall  in  the  clearing.  There  was  a 
low  scrub  too,  but  it  was  a  scrub  that  might  be 
trodden  under  foot.  In  two  minutes  Seth  was 
stooping     examining     a     tent-peg,    discolored    by 


92        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

weather,  but  intact,  and  still  holding  in  the  earth 
where  it  had  been  driven.  It  was  but  four  yards 
from  this  to  a  place  where  two  distinct  piles  of 
human  bones  were  lying  hidden  in  the  rank  grass. 

Seth  was  on  his  knees  pulling  the  grass  aside,  but 
he  did  not  touch  the  bones.  The  skeletons  were  far 
from  complete.  Fortunately  the  skulls  were  there, 
and  he  saw  that  they  were  those  of  a  man  and  a 
woman.  While  he  contemplated  the  ghastly  re- 
mains his  thoughts  conjured  up  many  scenes.  He 
saw  the  bullet  hole  through  the  woman's  skull,  and 
the  horrid  rift  in  the  man's.  The  absence  of  many 
of  the  bones  of  the  extremities  made  him  think  of 
the  coyotes,  those  prairie  scavengers  who  are  never 
far  ofT  when  death  stalks  the  plains. 

After  a  few  moments  he  was  searching  the  long 
grass  in  every  direction.  He  looked  for  remnants 
of  clothing ;  for  anything  to  give  him  a  sign.  In  his 
search  he  was  joined  by  the  scout  who  had  returned 
from  the  water,  where  he  had  discovered  further 
traces  of  an  encampment. 

At  last  the  examination  was  completed.  There 
was  nothing  left  to  indicate  the  identity  of  the  bones. 

The  two  men  now  stood  by  the  bones  of  the  un- 
fortunate man  and  woman.  Seth  was  staring  out  at 
the  surrounding  brush. 

"  I  guess  the  Injuns  cleaned  things  up  pretty  well,' 
he  said,  while  his  eyes  settled  on  one  little  bush  apart 
from  the  rest. 

The  scout  shook  his  head. 


SETH  WASHES  A  HANDKERCHIEF        93 

"  That's  not  Injuns'  work,"  he  said. 

"No?"  Seth  queried  casually 

"  No.  Everything  gone.  So.  That  not  like 
Injun." 

Seth  made  no  response,  but  walked  over  to  the 
bush  he  had  been  looking  at.  The  scout  saw  him 
thrust  a  hand  in  amongst  the  branches  and  with- 
draw it  holding  something. 

"  What  you  find  ? "  he  asked,  when  Seth  came 
back. 

•'  Only  a  rag." 

Then,  a  moment  later,  Seth  asked  suddenly:  "  How 
far  from  here  to — Jason's  old  place  ?  " 

"Six — eight — nine  hour,"  Jim  Crow  said,  with  his 
broad  smile  that  meant  nothing. 

Seth  looked  long  and  thoughtfully  at  the  split  skull 
on  the  ground.  Then  his  eyes  sought  the  bullet  hole 
in  the  woman's  skull.     But  he  said  nothing. 

A  little  later  the  two  men  went  back  to  the  horses 
and  mounted. 

"  Guess  I'll  git  on  to  see  the  Agent,"  Seth  ob- 
served, while  the  horses  moved  away  from  the 
bluff. 

"You  go  by  Reservation?" 

"  Yes  " 

Jim  Crow  surveyed  the  prospect  in  silence.  They 
reached  the  trail,  and  their  horses  stood  preparatory 
to  parting  company. 

"  S'long,"  said  Seth. 

The  Indian  turned  and  looked  away  to  the  north 


94        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

It  was  the  direction  in  which  lay  the  great  Reserva- 
tions. Then  he  turned  back,  and  his  black,  slit-like 
eyes  shot  a  sidelong  glance  at  his  companion. 

*•  You  go — alone?"  he  asked. 

The  other  nodded  indifferently. 

'*  Then  I  say  sleep  little  and  watch  much — I,  Jim 
Crow." 

The  two  men  parted.  The  scout  moved  off  and 
his  hand  went  to  the  pocket  of  his  trousers  where  his 
fingers  crumpled  the  crisp  five-dollar  bill  he  had  re- 
ceived for  his  services.  Nothing  else  really  mattered 
to  him.  Seth  rode  away  humming  a  tune  without 
melody. 

All  the  way  to  the  Agent's  house  he  carried  out 
the  scout's  advice  of  watchfulness ;  but  for  a  differ- 
ent reason,  Seth  had  no  personal  fear  of  these  stormy 
Indians.  His  watchfulness  was  the  observation  of  a 
man  who  learns  from  all  he  sees.  He  slept  some 
hours  on  the  prairie  while  his  horse  rested,  and  ar- 
rived at  the  Agency  the  next  day  at  noon. 

Jimmy  Parker,  as  he  was  familiarly  called,  greeted 
him  cordially  in  his  abrupt  fashion. 

•'  Ah,  howdy,"  he  said.  "  Prowling,  Seth  ?  "  His 
w(jrds  were  accompanied  by  a  quick  look  that  asked 
a  dozen  questions,  all  of  which  he  knew  would  re- 
main unanswered.  Seth  and  he  were  old  friends  and 
understood  one  another. 

*■  Takin'  a  spell  off,"  replied  the  farmer. 

"  Ah,     And  putting  it  in  on  the  Reservation  " 

The  Agent  smiled   briefly.     His  face  seemed  tc 


SETH  WASHES  A  HANDKERCHIEF        95 

have  worn  itself  into  a  serious  caste  wliich  required 
effort  to  change. 

"Many  huntin'  *  passes '  these  times?"  Seth  in- 
quired presently. 

"  None.  Only  Little  Black  Fox  says  he's  going 
hunting  soon."  The  Agent's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
other's  face. 

*•  See  you've  got  Jim  Crow  workin'  around — south." 
Seth  waved  an  arm  in  the  direction  whence  he  had 
come. 

•'  Yes."  Again  came  the  Agent's  swiftly  passing 
smile.  "  We're  a  good  distance  from  the  southern 
boundary.  Jim  Crow's  smart  enough.  How  did 
you  know  ?  " 

"  Saw  his  tepee." 

"  Ah.     You've  been  south  ?  " 

"  Yes.     There's  a  fine  open  countr}^  that  aways." 

They  passed  into  the  Agency,  and  Parker's  sister 
and  housekeeper  brought  the  visitor  coffee.  The 
house  was  very  plain,  roomy,  and  comfortable.  The 
two  men  were  sitting  in  the  office. 

"  Seen  anything  of  Steyne  around  ?  "  asked  Sethj 
after  a  noisy  sip  of  his  hot  coffee. 

"  Too  much.     And  he's  very  shy." 

Seth  nodded.     He  quite  understood. 

"  Guess  suthin's  movin',"  he  said,  while  he  poured 
his  coffee  into  his  saucer  and  blew  it. 

"  I've  thought  so,  too,  and  written  to  the  colonel 
at  the  fort.     What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"Can't    say.     Guess    it's    jest   a    notion."     Seth 


96        THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

paused.  Then  he  went  on  before  the  other  could  put 
in  a  word.     "  Won't  be  just  yet.     Guess  I'll  git  on." 

The  two  men  passed  out  of  the  house,  and  Seth 
remounted. 

"  Guess  you  might  let  me  know  if  Black  Fox  gits 
his  '  pass,'  "  he  said,  as  he  turned  his  horse  away. 

"  I  will." 

Parker  watched  the  horseman  till  he  disappeared 
amongst  the  bushes.  A  moment  later  he  was  talk- 
ing to  his  sister. 

"Wish  I'd  telegraphed  to  the  fort  now,"  he  said 
regretfully.  "  I  can't  do  it  after  writing,  they'd  think 
—1  believe  Seth  came  especially  to  convey  warning, 
and  to  liear  about  Black  Fox's  pass.  It's  a  remarka- 
ble thing,  but  he  seems  to  smell  what  these  Indians 
are  doing." 

"  Yes,"  said  his  sister.  But  she  felt  that  when  two 
such  capable  men  discussed  the  Indians  there  was 
no  need  for  her  to  worry,  so  she  took  out  Seth's  cup 
and  retired  to  her  kitchen. 

In  the  meantime  Seth  had  reached  the  river.  Here 
he  again  dismounted,  but  this  time  for  no  more  sig- 
nificant reason  than  to  wash  out  the  rag  he  had  res- 
cued from  the  bush  south  of  the  Reservations.  He 
washed  and  rewashed  the  cotton,  till  it  began  to  re- 
gain something  of  its  original  color.  Then  he  ex- 
amined it  carefully  round  the  hem. 

It  was  a  small,  woman's  handkerchief,  and,  in  one 
corner,  a  name  was  neatly  written  in  marking  ink. 
The  name  was  "  Raynor." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  RED  RIDING  HOOD 

It  is  Sunday.  The  plaintive  tinkle  of  the  school- 
room bell  at  the  Mission  has  rung  the  Christianized 
Indians  to  the  short  service  which  is  held  there. 

"  Indian  Mission."  The  name  conveys  a  sense  of 
peace.  Yet  the  mission  histories  of  the  Indian  Res- 
ervations would  make  bloody  reading.  From  the 
first  the  Christian  teacher  has  been  the  pitiable  prey 
of  the  warlike  savage.  He  bears  the  brunt  of  every 
rising.  It  is  only  in  recent  years  that  his  work  has  at- 
tained the  smallest  semblance  of  safety.  The  soldier 
fights  an  open  foe.  The  man  in  charge  of  an  Indian 
mission  does  not  fight  at  all.  He  stands  ever  in  the 
slaughter-yard,  living  only  at  the  pleasure  of  the 
reigning  chief.     He  is  a  brave  man. 

The  service  is  over.  It  is  perforce  brief.  The 
grown  men  and  women  come  out  of  the  building. 
The  spacious  interior  is  cleared  of  all  but  the  children 
and  a  few  grown-up  folk  who  remain  to  hold  a  sort 
of  Sunday-school. 

There  are  Wanaha  and  Seth.  Rosebud,  too,  helps, 
and  Charlie  Rankin  and  his  young  wife,  who  have  a 
farm   some   two   miles   east  of  White  River  Farm 


9^^         THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Then  there  is  the  missionary,  Mr.  Hargreaves,  a 
large  man  with  gray  hair  and  rugged,  bearded  face, 
whose  blue  eyes  look  straight  at  those  he  is  address- 
ing with  a  mild,  invincible  bravery.  And  the  Agent, 
James  Parker,  a  short,  abrupt  man,  with  a  bulldog 
chest  and  neck,  and  a  sharp,  alert  manner. 

These  are  the  workers  in  this  most  important 
branch  of  the  civilizing  process.  They  are  striking 
at  the  root  of  their  object.  The  children  can  be 
molded  where  the  parents  prove  impossible.  Once 
these  black-eyed  little  ones  have  mastered  the 
English  language  the  rest  is  not  so  difficult  They 
have  to  be  weaned  from  their  own  tongue  if  their 
Christian  teachers  would  make  headway.  A  small, 
harmless  bribery  works  wonders  in  this  direction. 
And  all  these  children  have  learned  to  speak  and 
understand  the  English  language. 

Seth  attempts  no  Bible  instruction,  and  his  is  a 
class  much  in  favor.  His  pockets  always  contain 
the  most  home-made  taffy.  He  has  a  method  purely 
his  own  ;  and  it  is  a  secular  method.  Only  to  the 
brightest  and  most  advanced  children  is  the  honor 
of  promotion  to  his  class  awarded. 

He  is  holding  his  class  outside  the  building.  His 
children  sit  round  him  in  a  semicircle.  He  is  sitting 
on  an  upturned  box  with  his  back  against  the  lateral 
logs  of  the  building.  There  is  a  pleasant  shade  here, 
also  the  pungent  odor  from  the  bright  green  bluff 
which  faces  him.  The  Indian  children  are  very  quiet, 
but  they  are  agog  with  interest.     They  have  noted 


ADVENTURES  OF  RED  RIDING  HOOD     gg 

the  bulging  pockets  of  Seth's  Sunday  jacket,  and 
are  nriore  than  ready  to  give  him  their  best  atten- 
tion in  consequence.  Besides  they  Hke  his  teach- 
ing. 

Seth's  method  is  quite  simple.  Last  Sunday  he 
told  them  a  little,  old-fashioned  children's  fairy  story 
with  a  moral.  Now  he  takes  each  child  in  turn,  and 
questions  him  or  her  on  the  teaching  he  then  con- 
veyed. But  in  this  direction  they  are  not  very  apt, 
these  little  heathens. 

The  singing  inside  the  Mission  had  died  out,  and 
the  last  chords  on  the  small  organ  had  wheezed  them- 
selves into  silence.  Seth,  having  finished  his  pre- 
liminaries, began  serious  business. 

He  deposited  a  large  packet  of  treacle  tafl'y  upon 
the  ground  at  his  feet,  cut  the  string  of  it  with  his 
sheath-knife,  opened  it,  and  examined  the  contents 
with  a  finely  critical  air.  Having  satisfied  himself 
he  set  it  down  again  and  smiled  on  his  twelve  pupils, 
all  ranging  from  ten  to  twelve  years  of  age,  sitting 
round  him.  He  produced  a  well-thumbed  volume 
from  his  pocket,  and,  opening  it,  laid  it  upon  his 
knee.  It  was  there  in  case  he  should  stumble,  for 
Seth  was  not  a  natural  born  teacher.  He  did  it  for 
the  sake  of  the  little  ones  themselves. 

Next  he  handed  each  child  a  piece  of  taffy,  and 
waited  while  it  was  adjusted  in  the  cheek. 

"  Guess  you'  ve  all  located  your  dollops  o'  candy  ? ' 
he  said,  after  a  while.     "  I  allow  you  ken  get  right  at 
tt  and  fix  it  in.     This  camp  ain't  goin'  to  be  struck 


lOo      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

till  the  sweet  food's  done.  Guess  you'll  mostly  need 
physic  'fore  you're  through,  sure.  Howsum,  your 
mam's  '11  see  to  it." 

The  last  remarks  were  said  more  to  himself  than 
to  the  children,  who  sat  staring  up  into  his  dark, 
earnest  face  with  eyes  as  solemn  as  those  of  the 
moose  calf,  and  their  little  cheeks  bulging  danger- 
ously.    Seth  cleared  his  throat. 

*•  Guess  you  ain't  heard  tell  o'  that  Injun  gal  that 
used  to  go  around  in  a  red  blanket  same  as  any  of 
you  might.  I'm  jest  going  to  tell  you  about  her. 
Ah,  more  candy?"  as  a  small  hand  was  held  out 
appealingly  toward  him.  "  Guess  we'll  have  another 
round  before  I  get  going  right."  He  doled  out 
more  of  the  sticky  stuff,  and  then  propped  his  face 
upon  his  hands  and  proceeded. 

"  Wal,  as  I  was  goin'  to  say,  that  little  squaw 
lived  away  there  by  the  hills  in  a  snug  tepee  with 
her  gran'ma.  They  were  jest  two  squaws  by  them- 
selves, an  old  one,  and  a  young  one.  And  they 
hadn't  no  brave  to  help  'em,  nor  nothin'.  The  young 
squaw  w^as  jest  like  any  of  you.  Jest  a  neat,  spry 
litde  gal,  pretty  as  a  picture  and  real  good. 

"  She  kind  o'  looked  after  her  gran'ma  who  was 
sick.  Sick  as  a  mule  with  the  botts.  Did  the  chores 
around  that  tepee,  bucked  a  lot  of  cord-wood,  fixed  up 
moccasins,  an'  did  the  cookin',  same  as  you  gals  '11 
mebbe  do  later  on.  She  was  a  slick  young  squaw, 
she  was.  Knew  a  caribou  from  a  jack-rabbit,  an' 
could  sit  a  bucking  broncho  to  beat  the  band.     Guess 


ADVENTURES  OF  RED  RIDING.  HOOD      )qi 

it  was  doin'  all  these  things  so  easy  she  kind  o'  got 
feelin'  independent — sort  o'  wanted  to  do  everything 
herself.  And  she  just  used  to  go  right  down  to  the 
store  for  food  an'  things  by  herself. 

"  Now  I  don't  know  how  it  rightly  come  about, 
but  somewheres  around  that  tepee  a  wolf  got  busy 
A  timber  wolf,  most  as  big  as — as — the  Mission 
house.  An'  he  was  savage.  Gee,  but  he  was  real 
savage !  Guess  he  was  one  o'  them  fellers  always 
ready  to  scare  squaws  an'  papooses  an'  things. 
Ther's  lots  o'  that  sort  around." 

Wanaha,  quite  unobserved  by  Seth,  had  come 
round  the  corner  of  the  building,  and  stood  watch- 
ing the  earnest  face  of  the  man  who  was  so  deliber- 
ately propounding  his  somewhat  garbled  version  of 
Litde  Red  Riding  Hood.  While  she  listened  to  his 
words  she  smiled  pensively. 

"  Yes,  they  git  themselves  up  fancy  an'  come 
sneakin'  around,  an'  they're  jest  that  fierce  there 
ain't  no  chance  for  you.  Say,  them  things  would 
eat  you  right  up,  same  as  you've  eaten  that  tafTy. 
Wal,  this  young  squaw  was  goin*  ofif  on  her  broncho 
when  this  timber  wolf  comes  up  smilin',  an'  he  says, 
'Good-day,'  An'  he  shakes  hands  with  her  same  as 
grown  folks  do.  All  them  timber  wolves  are  like 
that,  'cause  they  think  you  won't  see  they're  going  to 
eat  you  then.  You  see  he  was  hungry.  He'd  been 
out  on  the  war-path — which  is  real  bad — an'  he'd 
been  fightin',  and  the  folks  had  beaten  him  off.  and 
he  couldn't  get  food,  'cause  he'd  left  the  Reservation 


102       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

where  there's  always  plenty  to  eat  an'  drink,  arid 
there  was  none  anywhere  else. 

"  Wal,  he  sizes  up  that  squaw,  and  sees  her  blan- 
ket's good  an'  thick,  and  her  moccasins  is  made  of 
moose  hide,  and  her  beads  is  pretty,  and  he  thinks 
she'll  make  a  good  meal,  but  he  thinks,  thinks  he. 
he'll  eat  the  squaw's  sick  gran'ma  first.  So  he  says 
'  Good-bye,'  an'  waits  till  she's  well  away  on  the 
trail,  and  then  hurries  back  to  the  tepee  an'  eats  up 
the  old  squaw.  Say  wolves  is  ter'ble — 'specially 
timber  wolves. 

"Now,  when  that  squaw  gits  home "     Seth 

paused  and  doled  out  more  taffy.  The  children 
were  wonderfully  intent  on  the  story,  but  the  sweets 
helped  their  attention.  For  there  was  much  of  what 
he  said  that  was  hard  on  their  understandings.  The 
drama  of  the  story  was  plain  enough,  but  the  moral 
appealed  to  them  less. 

"When  that  squaw  gits  home  she  lifts  the  flap  of 
the  tepee,  and  she  sees  what  she  thinks  is  her 
gran'ma  lying  covered  up  on  the  skins  on  the 
ground.  The  fire  is  still  burnin',  and  everything  is 
jest  as  she  left  it.  She  feels  good  an'  chirpy,  and 
sits  right  down  by  her  gran'ma's  side.  And  then 
she  sees  what  she  thinks  looks  kind  o'  queer.  Says 
she,  '  Gee,  gran'ma,  what  a  pesky  long  nose  you've 
got ! '  You  see  that  wolf  had  come  along  an'  eaten 
her  gran'ma,  and  fixed  himself  up  in  her  clothes  an' 
things,  and  was  lying  right  there  ready  to  eat  her, 
too,  when  she  come  along.     So  master  timber  wolf, 


ADVENTURES  OF  RED  RIDING  HOOD      103 

he  savs,  'That's  so  I  ken  smell  out  things  when  I'm 
hunting.'  Then  that  squaw,  bein'  curious-like,  which 
is  the  way  with  wimmin-folk,  says,  '  Shucks,  gran'ma, 
but  your  tongue's  that  long  you  ain't  room  for  it  in 
your  mouth.'  That  wolf  gits  riled  then.  Says  he, 
•That's  so  1  ken  taste  the  good  things  I  eat.'  Guess 
the  squaw  was  plumb  scared  at  that.  She'd  never 
heard  her  gran'ma  say  things  like  that.  But  she  goes 
on,  says  she,  'Your  teeth's  fine  an'  long  an'  white, 
maybe  you've  cleaned  'em  some.'  Then  says  the 
wolf,  '  That's  so  I  ken  eat  folks  like  you  right  up.' 
With  that  he  springs  out  of  the  blankets  an'  pounces 
sheer  on  that  poor  little  squaw  and  swallows  her  up 
at  one  gulp,  same  as  you  ken  s waller  this  tafTy." 

Seth  suddenly  sprang  from  his  seat,  held  the  bag 
of  candy  out  at  arm's  length,  and  finally  dropped  it 
on  the  ground  in  the  midst  of  the  children.  There 
was  a  rush  ;  a  chorus  of  childish  glee,  and  the  whole 
twelve  fell  into  a  struggling  heap  upon  the  ground, 
wildly  fighting  for  the  feast. 

With  a  gende  smile  Seth  looked  on  at  the  fierce 
scramble.  To  judge  from  his  manner  it  would  have 
been  hard  to  assert  which  was  the  happier,  the  chil- 
dren or  their  teacher.  Though  Seth  found  them  a 
tax  on  his  imaginative  powers,  and  though  he  was  a 
man  unused  to  many  words,  he  loved  these  Sunday 
afternoons  with  his  young  charges. 

His  thoughtful  contemplation  was  broken  by 
Wanaha.  Her  moccasins  gave  out  no  sound  as  s  e 
stepped  up  to  him  from  behind  and  touched  him  on 


104      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

the  shoulder.  Her  grave  smile  had  passed  ;  and 
when  he  turned  he  found  himself  looking  into  a  pair 
of  steady,  serious,  inscrutable  eyes.  No  white  woman 
can  hide  her  thoughts  behind  such  an  impenetrable 
mask  as  the  squaw.  Surely  the  Indian  face  might 
well  have  served  as  a  model  for  the  Sphinx. 

"The  white  teacher  makes  much  happy,"  she  said 
in  her  labored  English. 

Seth  promptly  answered  her  in  her  own  tongue. 

"  The  papooses  of  the  Indian  make  the  white  man 
happy,"  he  said  simply. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Suddenly  one  dusky 
urchin  rose  with  a  whoop  of  delight,  bearing  aloft 
the  torn  paper  with  several  lumps  of  sweet  stuff,  dis- 
colored with  dirt,  sticking  to  it.  With  one  accord 
the  little  mob  broke.  The  triumphant  child  fled 
away  to  the  blufT  pursued  by  the  rest  of  her  howling 
companions.  The  man  and  the  squaw  were  left 
alone. 

"The  white  man  tells  a  story  of  a  wolf  and  a 
squaw,"  Wanaha  said,  returning  to  her  own  lan- 
guage. The  children  were  still  shrieking  in  the 
distance. 

Seth  nodded  assent.  He  had  nothing  to  add  to 
her  statement. 

"  And  the  wolf  eats  the  squaw,"  the  woman  went 
on,  quite  seriously.  It  sounded  strange,  her  literal 
manner  of  discussing  this  children's  stor}\ 

A  look  of  interest  came  into  the  man's  thoughtfu/ 
eyes.     But  he  turned  away,  not  wishing  to  display 


ADVENTURES  OF  RED  RIDING  HOOD      105 

any  curiosity.  He  understood  the  Indian  nature  as 
few  men  do. 

"  There  was  no  one  by  to  warn  the  squaw  ?  "  she 
went  on  in  a  tone  of  simple  inquiry.  "  No  brave  to 
help  her?" 

"  No  one  to  help,"  answered  the  man. 

There  was  another  pause.  The  children  still  in- 
side the  Mission  house  were  helping  to  chant  the 
Doxology,  and  the  woman  appeared  to  listen  to  it 
with  interest.     When  it  was  finished  she  went  on  — 

**  Where  the  wolf  is  there  is  much  danger  for  the 
squaw.  Indian  squaw — or  white.  I,  too,  learn  these 
things.     I  learn  from  much  that  I  hear — and  see." 

"  I  know,"  Seth  nodded. 

"You  know?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Wanaha  is  glad.  The  white  brave  will  watch 
over  the  young  squaw."  The  woman  smiled  again. 
Seth  thought  he  detected  a  sigh  of  relief.  He  under- 
stood this  woman  as  well  as  it  is  given  to  man  to 
understand  any  woman — even  an  Indian  woman. 

"  This  wolf  won't  bother  about  the  gran'ma,"  said 
Seth,  looking  straight  into  Wanaha's  eyes.  "  He's 
after  the  young  squaw." 

"  And  he  will  have  the  young  squaw  soon." 

Wanaha  abruptly  turned  away  and  hurried  rou'id 
to  the  entrance  of  the  Mission.  The  sound  of  people 
moving  within  the  building  told  her  that  the  Sundav- 
school  was  over.  Her  silent  going  suggested  t!iat 
she  had  no  wish  to  be  seen  talking  in  private  to  Seth. 


io6      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Seth  remained  where  he  was.  His  delay  may 
have  been  intentional,  yet  he  had  the  appearance  of 
deep  preoccupation.  He  quite  understood  that 
Wanaha's  presence  during  his  story  had  been 
deliberate.  She  had  left  her  own  class  on  some 
trifling  excuse  and  come  out  to  warn  him,  knowing 
that  he  would  be  alone  with  his  children.  There 
was  no  smile  on  his  face  while  he  stood  thinking, 
only  a  pucker  between  his  dark  brows,  and  an  odd 
biting  of  his  under-lip. 

At  last  he  shook  himself  as  though  he  found  the 
shade  chilly,  and,  a  moment  later,  sauntered  round 
to  the  front  of  the  building  in  time  to  meet  the  others 
coming  out. 

He  joined  the  group  which  included  Wanaha,  and 
they  talked  a  few  minutes  with  the  Agent  and  Mr.  Har- 
greaves.  Then  Mrs.  Rankin  and  Rosebud  moved 
off  to  the  two  waiting  buckboards,  and  Wanaha  dis- 
appeared down  a  by-path  through  the  trees.  Seth 
and  Charlie  Rankin  followed  their  womenfolk. 

Seth  was  the  only  silent  member  of  the  party,  but 
this  was  hardly  noticeable,  for  he  rarely  had  much 
to  say  for  himself. 

On  the  way  home  Rosebud  at  last  found  reason  to 
grumble  at  his  silence.  She  had  chattered  away  the 
whole  time  in  her  light-hearted,  inconsequent  fashion, 
and  at  last  asked  him  a  question  to  which  she  re- 
quired more  than  a  nod  of  the  head  in  reply.  And 
she  had  to  ask  it  three  times,  a  matter  which  ruffled 
her  patience. 


ADVENTURES  OF  RED  RIDING  HOOD     107 

"Why  are  you  so  grumpy  with  me,  Seth?"  she 
asked,  with  a  little  frown.  She  always  accused  Seth 
of  being  "  grumpy  "  when  he  was  more  than  usually 
silent. 

"  Eh  ?"  The  man  turned  from  the  contemplation 
of  the  horses'  tails. 

"  I  asked  you  three  times  if  you  saw  the  Agent 
talking  to  two  of  his  scouts — Jim  Crow  and  Rain- 
maker— before  service." 

Seth  flicked  his  whip  over  the  backs  of  the  horses. 

•'  Sure,"  he  said  indifferently. 

"  Jim  Crow  is  the  head  of  his  Indian  police." 

The  girl  spoke  significantly,  and  Seth  glanced 
round  at  her  in  surprise. 

"  I  know,"  he  observed. 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  anything — moving  ?  Oh, 
look,  Seth,  there's  a  lovely  jack-rabbit"  Rosebud 
pointed  ahead.  A  large  jack-rabbit  was  loping 
slowly  out  of  the  way  of  the  buckboard.  Seth  leant 
forward  with  unnecessary  interest,  and  so  was  saved 
a  direct  answer  to  the  girl's  question. 


CHAPTER  X 

SETH   ATTEMPTS   TO   WRITE  A   LETTER 

It  is  not  usually  a  remarkable  event  in  one's  life, 
the  writing  of  a  letter.  In  these  days  of  telephone, 
however,  it  soon  will  be.  In  Seth's  case  it  nearly 
was  so,  but  for  a  different  reason.  Seth  could  write, 
even  as  he  could  read.  But  he  was  not  handy  at 
either.  He  abominated  writing,  and  preferred  to 
read  only  that  which  Nature  held  out  for  his  perusal. 
However,  after  some  days  of  deep  consideration,  he 
had  decided  to  write  a  letter.  And,  with  char- 
acteristic thoroughness,  he  intended  it  to  be  very 
long,  and  very  explicit. 

After  supper  one  evening,  when  Rube  had  gone 
out  for  his  evening  smoke,  and  that  final  prowl 
round  necessary  to  see  that  all  was  prepared  for  the 
morrow's  work,  and  the  stock  comfortable  for  the 
night,  and  Ma  Sampson  and  Rosebud  were  busy 
washing  up,  and,  in  their  department,  also  seeing 
things  straight  for  the  night,  Seth  betook  himself  to 
the  parlor,  that  haven  of  modest  comfort  and  horse- 
hair, patchwork  rugs  and  many  ornaments,  earthen 
floor  and  low  ceiling,  and  prepared  for  his  task. 
He  had  no  desire  to  advertise  the  fact  of  that  letter. 


SETH  ATTEMPTS  TO  WRITE  A  LETTER     109 

so  he  selected  this  particular  moment  when  the 
others  were  occupied  elsewhere. 

His  ink  and  paper  were  on  the  table  before  him, 
and  his  pen  was  poised  while  he  considered.  Then 
the  slow,  heavy  footfall  of  old  Rube  sounded  ap- 
proaching through  the  kitchen.  The  scribe  waited 
to  hear  him  pass  up-stairs,  or  settle  himself  in  an 
armchair  in  the  kitchen.  But  the  heavy  tread  came 
on,  and  presently  the  old  man's  vast  bulk  blocked 
the  doorway. 

"Ah!     Writin'?" 

The  deep  tone  was  little  better  than  a  grunt. 

Seth  nodded,  and  gazed  out  of  the  window.  The 
parlor  window  looked  out  in  the  direction  of  the 
Reservation.  If  he  intended  to  convey  a  hint  it  was 
not  taken.  Old  Rube  had  expected  Seth  to  join 
him  outside  for  their  usual  smoke.  That  after- 
supper  prowl  had  been  their  habit  for  years.  He 
wanted  to  talk  to  him. 

"  I  was  yarnin'  with  Jimmy  Parker  s'afternoon," 
said  Rube.  » 

Seth  looked  round. 

The  old  man  edged  heavily  round  the  table  till  he 
came  to  the  high-backed,  rigid  armchair  that  had  al- 
ways been  his  seat  in  this  room. 

**  He  says  the  crops  there  are  good,"  he  went  on, 
indicating  the  Reservation  with  a  nod  of  his  head  to- 
ward the  window. 

"  It'll  be  a  good  year  all  round,  I  guess,"  Seth 
admitted. 


no       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  it  will  be,"  was  the  answer. 

Rube  was  intently  packing  his  pipe,  and  the  other 
waited.  Rube's  deep-set  eyes  had  lost  their  custom- 
ary twinkle.  The  deliberation  with  which  he  was 
packing  his  pipe  had  in  it  a  suggestion  of  abstrac- 
tion. Filling  a  pipe  is  a  process  that  M^onderfully 
indicates  the  state  of  a  man's  mind. 

"Jimmy's  worried  some.  'Bout  the  harvest,  I 
guess,"  Rube  said  presently,  adjusting  his  pipe  in 
the  corner  of  his  mouth,  and  testing  the  draw  of  it. 
But  his  eyes  were  not  raised  to  his  companion's 
face. 

"  Injuns  ain't  w^orkin'  well?" 

"  Mebbe." 

"  They're  a  queer  lot." 

"Ye-es.  I  was  kind  o' figgerin'.  We're  mostly 
through  hay  in'." 

"  I've  got  another  slough  to  cut." 

"That's  so.  Down  at  the  Red  Willow  bluff.'* 
The  old  man  nodded. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Seth.     Then,  "  Wal  ?  " 

"  After  that,  guess  ther's  mosdy  slack  time  till  har- 
vest. I  thought,  mebbe,  we  could  jest  haul  that 
lumber  from  Beacon  Crossing.  And  cut  the  logs. 
Parker  give  me  the '  permit.'  Seems  to  me  we  might 
do  wuss." 

"  For  the  stockade?"  suggested  Seth. 

•«  Yes." 

"  I've  thought  of  that,  too."  The  two  men  looke'ii 
into  each  other's  eyes.     And  the  old  man  nodded 


SETH  ATTEMPTS  TO  WRITE  A  LETTER     in 

"Guess  the  gals  wouldn't  want  to  know,"  he  said, 
rising  and  preparing  to  depart. 

•'  No — I  don't  think  they  would." 

The  hardy  old  pioneer  towered  mightily  as  he 
moved  toward  the  door.  In  spite  of  his  years  he 
displayed  none  of  the  uneasiness  which  his  words 
might  have  suggested.  Nothing  that  frontier  life 
could  show  him  would  be  new.  At  least,  nothing 
that  he  could  imagine.  But  then  his  imagination 
was  limited.  Facts  were  facts  with  him  ;  he  could 
not  gild  them.  Seth  was  practical,  too  ;  but  he  also 
had  imagination,  which  made  him  the  cleverer  man 
of  the  two  in  the  frontiersman's  craft. 

At  the  door  Rube  looked  round. 

"  Guess  you  was  goin'  to  write  some  ?  " 

He  passed  out  with  a  deep  gurgle,  as  though  the  fact 
of  Seth's  writing  was  something  to  afford  amusement. 

Seth  turned  to  the  paper  and  dipf>ed  his  pen  in  the 
ink.  Then  he  wiped  it  clean  on  his  coat  sleeve  and 
dipped  it  again.  After  that  he  headed  his  paper 
with  much  precision.  Then  he  paused,  for  he  heard 
a  light  footstep  cross  the  passage  between  the  parlor 
and  the  kitchen.  He  sighed  in  relief  as  it  started  up- 
stairs. But  his  relief  was  short-lived.  He  knew  that 
it  was  Rosebud.  He  heard  her  stop.  Then  he  heard 
her  descend  again.  The  next  moment  she  appeared 
in  the  doorway. 

"What,  Seth  writing?"  she  exclaimed,  her  laugh- 
ing eyes  trying  to  look  seriously  surprised.  "  I  knew 
you  were  here  by  the  smell  of  the  smoke.' 


112       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Guess  it  was  Rube's."  Seth's  face  relaxed  for  a 
moment,  then  it  returned  to  its  usual  gravity. 

"  Then  it  must  have  been  that  pipe  you  gave  him 
the  other  night,"  she  returned  quick  as  thought. 

Seth  shook  his  head. 

"  Here  it  is,"  he  said,  and  drew  a  pipe  from  his 
pocket.  "  He  'lowed  he  hadn't  no  nigger  blood  in 
him." 

"Too  strong?" 

"  Wal — he  said  he  had  scruples." 

Rosebud  laughed,  and  came  and  perched  herself 
on  the  edge  of  Seth's  table.  He  leant  back  in  his 
chair  and  smiled  up  at  her.  Resignation  was  his 
only  refuge.     Besides  — 

"  So  you're  writing,  Seth,"  the  girl  said,  and  her 
eyes  had  become  really  serious.  They  were  deep, 
deep  now,  the  violet  of  them  was  almost  black  in  the 
evening  light.     "  I  wonder " 

Seth  shook  his  head. 

"  Nobody  yet,"  he  said. 

'•  You  mean  I'm  to  go  away?"  Rosebud  smiled, 
but  made  no  attempt  to  move. 

"  Guess  I  ain't  in  no  hurry." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  of  that.  And  you're  not  grumpy 
with  me  either,  are  you  ?  No  ?  "  as  Seth  shook  his 
head.  "  That's  all  right,  then,  because  I  want  to  talk 
to  you." 

"That's  how  I  figgered." 

"You're  always  figuring,  Seth.  You  figure  so 
much  in  your  own  quiet  way  that  I  sometimes  fancy 


SETH  ATTEMPTS  TO  WRITE  A  LETTER     113 

you  haven't  time  to  look  at  things  which  don't  need 
calculating  upon.  I  suppose  living  near  Indians  all 
your  life  makes  you  look  very  much  ahead.  I  won- 
der— what  you  see  there.     You  and  Rube." 

"  Guess  you're  side-tracked,"  Seth  replied  un- 
easily, and  turning  his  attention  to  the  blank  paper 
before  him. 

The  girl's  face  took  on  a  little  smile.  Her  eyes 
shone  again  as  she  contemplated  the  dark  head  of 
the  man  who  was  now  unconscious  of  her  gaze. 
There  was  a  tender  look  in  them.  The  old  madcap 
in  her  was  taming.  A  something  looked  out  of  her 
eves  now  which  certainly  would  not  have  been  there 
had  the  man  chanced  to  look  up.  But  he  didn't. 
The  whiteness  of  the  paper  seemed  to  absorb  all  liis 
keenest  interest. 

"  I  rather  think  you  always  fancy  I'm  side-tracked, 
Seth,"  the  girl  said  at  last.  "  You  don't  think  1  have 
a  serious  thought  in  my  foolish  head." 

Seth  looked  up  now  and  smiled. 

"  Guess  you've  always  been  a  child  to  me,"  he 
said.  "  An'  kiddies  ain't  bustin'  with  brain — generly. 
However,  I  don't  reckon  you're  foolish.  'Cep'  when 
you  git  around  that  Reservation,"  he  added  thought- 
fully. 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  The  man  avoided  the 
violet  eyes.  He  seemed  afraid  to  look  at  them. 
Rosebud's  presence  somehow  made  things  hard  for 
him.  Seth  was  a  man  whom  long  years  of  a  life 
draught  with  danger  had  taught  that  careful  thought 


114      THE  W  .TC.ERS  Ob  THE  PLAINS 

must  be  backed  up  by  steady  determination.     There 
must  be  no  wavering  in  any  purpose.     And  this  gir' 
presence  made  him  rebel  against  that  purpose  he  had 
in  his  mind  now. 

"  That  has  always  been  a  trouble  between  us,  hasn't 
it  ? "  Rosebud  said  at  last.  And  her  quiet  manner 
drew  her  companion's  quick  attention.  "  But  it  shan't 
be  any  more." 

The  man  looked  up  now ;  this  many-sided  girl 
could  still  astonish  him. 

*' You're  quittin'  the  Reservation?"  he  said. 

**  Yes, — except  the  sewing  and  Sunday  classes  at 
the  Mission,"  Rosebud  replied  slowly.  "  But  it's  not 
on  your  account  I'm  doing  it,"  she  added  hastily, 
with  a  gleam  of  the  old  mischief  in  her  eyes.  "  It's 
because — Seth,  why  do  the  Indians  hate  you  ?  Why 
does  Little  Black  Fox  hate  you?" 

The  man's  inquiring  eyes  searched  the  bright 
earnest  face  looking  down  upon  him.  His  only  reply 
was  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"  I  know,"  she  went  on.  "  It's  on  my  ac- 
count. You  killed  Little  Black  Fox's  father  to 
save  me." 

"  Not  to  save  you,"  Seth  said.  He  was  a  stickler 
for  facts.     "  And  saved  you." 

"  Oh,  bother  1  Seth^  you  are  stupid  !  It's  on  that 
account  he  hates  you.  And,  Seth,  if  I  promise  not 
to  go  to  the  Reservation  without  some  one,  will  you 
promise  me  not  to  go  there  without  me  ?  You  see 
it's  safer  if  there  are  two," 


SETH  ATTEMPTS  TO  WRITE  A  LETTER     115 

Seth  smiled  at  the  naive  simplicity  of  the  sugges- 
tion. He  did  not  detect  the  guile  at  first.  But  it 
dawned  on  him  presently  and  he  smiled  more.  She 
had  said  she  was  not  going  to  visit  the  Reservation 
again. 

"  Who  put  these  crazy  notions  into  your  head, 
Rosebud  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No  one." 

The  girl's  answer  came  very  short.  She  didn't 
like  being  laughed  at.  And  she  thought  he  was 
laughing  at  her  now. 

"  Some  one's  said  something,"  Seth  persisted. 
"  You  see  Little  Black  Fox  has  hated  me  for  six 
years.  There  is  no  more  danger  for  me  now  than 
there  was  when  I  shot  Big  Wolf.  With  you  it's 
kind  o'  different.     You  see — you're  grown " 

"  I  see."  Rosebud's  resentment  had  passed.  She 
understood  her  companion's  meaning.  She  had  un- 
derstood that  she  was  "  grown  "  before.  Presently 
she  went  on.  "  I've  learned  a  lot  in  the  last  few 
days,"  she  said  quietly,  gazing  a  little  wistfully  out 
of  the  window.  "  But  nobody  has  actually  told  me 
anything.  You  see,"  with  a  shadowy  smile,  "  I  no- 
tice things  near  at  hand.  I  don't  calculate  ahead. , 
I  often  talk  to  Little  Black  Fox,  He  is  easy  to  read. 
Much  easier  than  you  are,  Seth,"  she  finished  up, 
with  a  wise  little  nod. 

"  An'  you've  figgered  out  my  danger  ?  "  Seth  sur- 
veyed the  trim  figure  reposing  with  such  uncon- 
scious grace  upon  the  table.     He  could  have  feasted 


ii6      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

his  eyes  upon  it,  but  returned  to  a  contemplation  of 
his  note-paper. 

**  Yes.  Will  you  promise  me,  Seth — dear  old 
Seth  ? " 

The  man  shook  his  head.  The  wheedling  tone 
was  hard  to  resist. 

"I  can't  do  that,"  he  said.  "You  see,  Rosebud, 
ther's  many  things  take  me  there  which  must  be 
done.  Guess  I  git  around  after  you  at  times.  That 
could  be  altered,  eh  ?" 

"  1  don't  think  you're  kind,  Seth ! "  The  girl 
pouted  her  disappointment,  but  there  was  some  other 
feeling  underlying  her  manner.  The  man  looked  up 
with  infinite  kindness  in  his  eyes,  but  he  gave  no 
sign  of  any  other  feeling. 

"  Little  Rosebud,"  he  said,  "  if  ther's  a  creetur  in 
this  world  I've  a  notion  to  be  kind  to,  I  guess  she 
ain't  more'n  a  mile  from  me  now.  But,  as  I  said, 
ther's  things  that  take  me  to  the  Reservation.  Rube 
ken  tell  you.     So " 

The  man  broke  off,  and  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink. 
Rosebud  watched  him,  and,  for  once  in  her  wilful 
life,  forgot  that  she  had  been  refused  something,  and 
consequently  to  be  angry.  She  looked  at  the  head 
bending  over  the  paper  as  the  man  inscribed,  "  Dear 
sirs,"  and  that  something  which  had  peeped  out  of 
her  eyes  earlier  in  their  interview  was  again  to  be 
seen  there. 

She  reached  out  a  hand  as  she  slid  from  the  table 
and  smoothed  the  head  of  dark  hair  with  it 


SETH  ATTEMPTS  TO  WRITE  A  LETTER     117 

"  All  right,  Seth,"  she  said  gently.  "  We'll  have 
no  promises,  but  take  care  of  yourself,  because  you 
are  my  own  old — '  Daddy.'  " 

At  the  door  she  turned. 

"  You  can  write  your  letter  now,"  she  said,  with  a 
light  laugh.     The  next  moment  she  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   LETTER   WRITTEN 

But  Seth's  trials  were  not  yet  over.     The  two  in 
terviews  just  passed  had   given  Ma  Sampson  suffi- 
cient time  to  complete  her  household  duties.     And 
now  she  entered  her  parlor,  the  pride  of  her  home. 

She  came  in  quite  unaware  of  Seth's  presence 
there.  But  when  she  observed  him  at  the  table  with 
his  writing  materials  spread  out  before  him,  she 
paused. 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  didn't  know  you  were 
writin',  Seth  !  " 

The  man's  patience  seemed  inexhaustible,  for  he 
smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

'•  No,  Ma,"  he  said  with  truth. 

The  little  old  woman  came  round  the  table  and 
occupied  her  husband's  chair.  If  Seth  were  not 
writing,  then  she  might  as'  well  avail  herself  of  the 
opportunity  which  she  had  long  wanted.  She  had 
no  children  of  her  own,  and  lavished  all  her  motherly 
instincts  upon  this  man.  She  was  fond  of  Rosebud, 
but  the  girl  occupied  quite  a  secondary  place  in  her 
heart.  It  is  doubtful  if  any  mother  could  have  loved 
a  son  more  than  she  loved  Seth. 


THE  LETTER  WRITTEN  119 

She  had  a  basket  of  st..»mg  ♦vith  her  which  sh^ 
set  upon  the  table.  Then  she  took  from  it  a  bundle 
of  socks  and  stockings  and  began  to  overhaul  them 
with  a  view  to  darning.  Seth  watched  the  slight 
figure  bending  over  its  work,  and  the  bright  eyes 
peering  through  the  black-rimmed  glasses  which 
hooked  over  her  ears.  His  look  was  one  of  deep  af- 
fection. Surely  Nature  had  made  a  mistake  in  nut 
making  them  mother  and  son.  Still,  she  had  done 
the  next  best  thing  in  invoking  Fate's  aid  in  bring- 
ing them  together.  Mrs.  Sampson  looked  no  older 
than  the  day  on  which  Rosebud  had  been  brought 
to  the  house.  As  Seth  had  once  told  her,  she  would 
never  grow  old.  She  would  just  go  on  as  she  was, 
and,  when  the  time  came,  she  w^ould  pass  away 
peacefully  and  quietly,  not  a  day  older  than  she  had 
been  when  he  first  knew  her. 

But  Seth,  understanding  so  much  as  he  did  of  the 
life  on  that  prairie  farm,  and  the  overshadowing 
threat  which  was  always  with  them,  had  vet  lost 
sight  of  the  significance  of  the  extreme  grayness  of 
this  woman's  hair.  Still  her  bright  energy  and  un- 
complaining nature  might  well  have  lulled  all  fears, 
and  diverted  attention '  from  the  one  feature  whi^ 
oetrayed  her  ceaseless  anxiety. 

*'  I  kind  o'  tho't  sech  work  was  for  young  fingers, 
Ma,"  Seth  observed,  indicating  the  stockings. 

"  Ah,  Seth,  boy,  I  hated  to  darn  when  I  was  young 
an'  flighty." 

The  man  smiled.     His  accusations  had  been  made 


120      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

to  ears  that  would  not  hear.  He  knew  this  woman's 
generous  heart. 

"  I  reckon  Rosebud  '11  take  to  it  later  on,"  he  said 
quietly. 

"  When  she's  married." 

"  Ye-es." 

Seth  watched  the  needle  pass  through  and  through 
the  wool  on  its  rippling  way.  And  his  thoughts 
were  of  a  speculative  nature. 

"  She's  a  grown  woman  now,"  said  Mrs.  Sampson, 
after  a  while. 

"That's  so." 

"An'  she'll  be  thinkin'  of  *  beaus,*  or  I'm  na 
prophet." 

"  Time  enough,  Ma." 

"  Time  ?  I  guess  she's  goin'  on  eighteen.  Maybe 
you  don't  know  a  deal  o'  gals,  boy." 

The  bright  face  looked  up.  One  swift  glance  at 
her  companion  and  she  was  bending  over  her  work 
again. 

"I  had  'beaus'  enough,  I  reckon,  when  I  was 
eighteen.  Makes  me  lafT  when  I  think  o'  Rube. 
He's  always  been  like  what  he  is  now.  Jest  quiet 
an'  slow.  I  came  nigh  marryin'  a  feller  who's  got  a 
swell  horse  ranch  way  up  in  Canada,  through  Rube 
bein'  slow.  Guess  Rube  was  the  man  for  me, 
though,  all  through.  But,  you  see,  I  couldn't 
ask  him  to  marry  me.  Mussy  on  us,  fee  was 
slow  ! " 

"  Did  you  have  to  help  him  out,  Ma  ?  " 


THE  LETTER  WRITTEN  I2i 

•'  Help  him  ?  Did  you  ev^er  know  a  gal  who 
didn't  help  her  '  beau  '  out  ?  Boy,  when  a  gal  gets 
fixed  on  a  man  he's  got  a  job  if  he's  goin'  to 
get  clear.  Unless  he's  like  my  Rube — ter'ble 
slow." 

•'That's  how  you  re  sizin'  me  now,"  said  Seth, 
with  a  short  laugh. 

Ma  Sampson  worked  on  assiduously. 

"  Maybe  you're  slow  in  some  things,  Seth,"  she 
ventured,  after  a  moment's  thought. 

"  See  here,  Ma,  I've  always  reckoned  we'd  get 
yarnin'  like  this  some  day.  It  'ud  please  you  an' 
Rube  for  me  to  marry  Rosebud.  Wal,  you  an'  me's 
mostly  given  to  talkin'  plain.  An'  I  tell  you  right 
here  that  Rosebud  ain't  for  the  likes  o'  me.  Don't 
you  think  I'm  makin'  out  myself  a  poor  sort  o'  cuss. 
'Tain't  that.  You  know,  an'  I  know,  Rosebud  be- 
longs to  mighty  good  folk.  Wal,  before  ther's  any 
thought  of  me  an'  Rosebud,  we're  goin'  to  locate 
those  friends.  It's  only  honest,  Ma,  and  as  such  I 
know  you'll  understand.  Guess  we  don't  need  to 
say  any  more." 

Mrs.  Sampson  had  ceased  working,  and  sat  peer 
ing  at  her  boy  through  her  large  spectacles.     Seth's 
look  was  very  determined,  and  she  understood  him 
well. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Guess  you're  reckoning  out  your  side."  She 
laughed  slyly  and  went  on  darning.  "  Maybe  Rose- 
bud  won't   thank  you  a  heap  when  you  find  those 


122       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

friends.  They  haven't  made  much  fuss  to  find 
her." 

"  No,  i\ia.     An'  that's  just  it." 

"  How  ? "  The  darning  suddenly  dropped  into 
Mrs.  Sampson's  lap. 

"  Maybe  they  were  killed  by  the  Injuns." 

"  You're  guessin'." 

"  Maybe  I  am.     But " 

"What  do  you  know,  boy?"  The  old  woman 
was  all  agog  with  excitement. 

"  Not  a  g^eat  deal,  Ma,"  Seth  said,  with  one  of  his 
shadowy  smiles.  "  But  what  I  do  makes  me  want 
to  write  a  letter.  And  a  long  one.  An'  that  sort  of 
thing  ain't  easy  with  me.  You  see,  I'm  '  ter'ble 
slow.'  " 

Seth's  manner  was  very  gentle,  but  very  decided, 
and  Ma  Sampson  did  nut  need  much  explanation. 
She  quietly  stood  up  and  gathered  her  belongings 
together. 

*'  You  get  right  to  it,  boy.  What  you  do  is  right 
for  me.  I'll  say  no  more.  As  my  Rube  says,  ther' 
ain't  nothin'  like  livin'  honest.  An'  so  I  says.  But 
if  that  letter's  goin'  to  lose  you  Rosebud,  I'd  take  it 
friendly  of  Providence  if  it  would  kind  o'  interfere 
some.  I'll  go  an'  sit  with  Rube,  an'  you  can  write 
your  letter." 

At  last  Seth  turned  to  his  letter  in  earnest. 
He  first  pulled  out  a  piece  of  newspaper  from 
his  pocket  and  unfolded  it.  Then  he  laid  it  on 
the    table,    and   carefully   read    the  long  paragraph 


THE  LETTER  WRITTEN  123 

marked  by  four  blue  crosses.  He  wanted  to  make 
no  mistake.  As  he  had  said  himself,  letter-writ- 
ing wasn't  easy  to  him.  He  read  thoughtfully  and 
slowly. 

'The  Estate  of  the  Lost  Colonel  Raynor 

"  Once  more  we  are  reminded  of  the  mysterious 
disappearance  of  that  distinguished  cavalry  officer, 
Colonel  Landor  Raynor.  This  reminder  comes  in 
the  form  of  the  legal  proceedings  relating  to  his 
estate. 

*'  For  the  benefit  of  our  readers,  and  also  in  the 
gallant  officer's  own  interests,  we  give  here  a  re- 
capitulation of  the  events  surrounding  his  sudden 
disappearance. 

"On  May  i8th,  18 — ,  Colonel  Raynor  returned 
from  service  in  Egypt,  on  six  months'  leave,  and 
rented  a  shooting-box  in  the  Highlands.  Hardly 
had  he  settled  down  when  he  suddenly  declared  his 
intention  of  crossing  the  Atlantic  for  a  big  game 
shoot  in  the  Rockies.  This  purpose  he  carried  out 
within  four  days  of  his  announcement,  accompanied 
by  Mrs.  Raynor  and  their  Httle  daughter  Marjorie, 
aged  eleven,  a  golden-haired  little  beauty  with  the 
most  perfect  violet  eyes,  which  is  a  very  rare  and 
distinguishing  feature  amongst  women.  It  has  been 
clearly  proved  that  the  party  arrived  safely  in  New 
York,  and  proceeded  on  their  way  to  the  Rockies. 
Since  that  time  nothing  has  been  heard  of  any  of  the 
three. 


124       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

•'  There  is  no  definite  pronouncement  as  to  the  ad- 
ministration of  Colonel  Raynor's  estate.  He  owns 
large  property,  valued  roughly  at  nearly  a  quarter 
of  a  million  sterling.  It  has  come  to  light  that  he 
leaves  a  will  behind  him,  but  whether  this  will  be 
executed  or  not  remains  to  be  seen.  There  are  no 
near  relations,  except  the  colonel's  brother,  Stephen, 
who  was  disinherited  by  their  father  in  favor  of  the 
colonel,  and  who,  it  is  believed,  left  this  country 
at  the  time,  and  went  to  the  United  States.  His 
whereabouts  are  also  unknown,  in  spite  of  advertise- 
ment during  the  last  six  years. 

"  We  publish  these  details,  even  at  this  late  hour, 
in  the  faint  hope  that  some  light  may  yet  be  thrown 
on  the  mystery  which  enshrouds  the  fate  of  the  gal- 
lant colonel  and  his  family,  or,  at  least,  that  they 
may  assist  in  discovering  the  whereabouts  of  his 
brother.  Theories  have  been  put  forward.  But  the 
suggestion  which  seems  most  feasible  comes  from 
the  New  York  police.  They  think  he  must  have  met 
with  some  accident  in  the  obscurer  mountains,  for  he 
was  a  daring  climber,  and  that,  unaccompanied  as 
they  were  by  any  servants,  his  wife  and  daughter, 
left  helpless,  were  unable  to  get  back  to  civilization 
There  is  a  chance  that  misfortune  of  some  othei 
character  overtook  him,  but  of  what  nature  it  is  im- 
possible to  estimate.  It  has  been  asserted  by  one  ol 
the  officials  at  the  railway  station  at  Omaha  that  a 
party  alighted  from  a  transcontinental  train  there 
answering  the  description  of  Colonel  Raynor's  party. 


THE  LETTER  WRITTEN  125 

These  people  are  supposed  to  have  stayed  the  night 
at  a  hotel,  and  then  left  by  a  train  going  north.  In- 
quiry, however,  has  thrown  no  further  light  in  this 
direction,  and  so  the  police  have  fallen  back  on  their 
original  theory." 

Seth  laid  the  cutting  aside,  and  thoughtfully 
chewed  the  end  of  his  pen.  There  were  many 
things  he  had  to  think  of,  but,  curiously  enough, 
the  letter  he  had  to  compose  did  not  present  the 
chief  item.  Nor  did  Rosebud  even.  He  thought 
chiefly  of  that  railway  official,  and  the  ston,'  which 
the  police  had  so  easily  set  aside.  He  thought  of 
that,  and  he  thought  of  the  Indians,  w^ho  now  more 
than  ever  seemed  to  form  part  of  his  life. 

Finally  he  took  a  fresh  piece  of  paper  and  headed 
it  differently.  He  had  changed  his  mind.  He  origi- 
nally intended  to  write  to  the  New  York  police.  Now 
he  addressed  himself  to  the  Editor  of  the ,  Lon- 
don, England.  And  his  letter  was  just  the  sort  of 
letter  one  might  have  expected  from  such  a  man, 
direct,  plain,  but  eminently  exact 

As  he  finally  sealed  it  in  its  envelope  there  was  no 
satisfaction  in  the  expression  of  his  face.  He  drew 
out  his  pipe  and  filled  it  and  lit  it,  and  smoked  with 
his  teeth  clenching  hard  on  the  mouthpiece.  He  sat 
and  smoked  on  long  after  Rube  had  looked  in  and 
bade  him  good-night,  and  Ma  had  come  in  for  a 
good-night  kiss,  and  Rosebud  had  called  out  her 
nightly  farewell.     It  was  not  until  the  lamp  burnt 


126      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

low  and  began  to  smell  that  he  stole  silently  up  to 
his  bed.  But,  whatever  thought  had  kept  him  up  to 
this  hour,  he  slept  soundly,  for  he  was  a  healthy- 
minded  man. 


CHAPTER  XII 

CROSS  PURPOSES 

Seth  was  out  haying.  It  was  noon,  and  his  din- 
ner hour.  He  and  his  old  collie  dog,  General,  were 
taking  their  leisure  on  the  slope  of  Red  Willow 
slough,  while  the  horses,  relieved  of  their  bits  and 
traces,  were  nibbling  at  the  succulent  roots  of  the 
grass  over  which  the  mower  had  already  passed. 

General  possessed  a  sense  of  duty.  His  master 
was  apparently  sleeping,  with  his  prairie  hat  drawn 
over  his  face.  The  dog  crouched  at  his  feet,  strug- 
gling hard  to  keep  his  eyes  open,  and  remain  alert 
while  the  other  rested  from  his  labors.  But  the  sun 
was  hot,  the  scent  of  the  grass  overpowering,  and  it 
was  difficult. 

At  last  the  man  roused  and  sat  up.  The  dog 
sprang  to  his  feet.  His  ears  were  pricked,  and  he 
raced  off  across  the  slough.  As  he  went,  the  sound 
of  wheels  became  distinctlv  audible.  Rosebud, 
seated  in  a  buckboard,  and  driving  the  old  farm  mare, 
Hesper,  appeared  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  slough. 
She  was  bringing  Seth  his  dinner. 

A  moment  later  the  girl  drew  rein  and  sprang  out 
of  the  vehicle.  The  heat  in  no  way  weighed  upon 
her  f^pirits.  She  looked  as  fresh  and  cool  in  her 
«hite   linen    dress    and    sun-hat   as   if   it   were   an 


128       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

early  spring  day.  Her  laughing  face  was  in  marked 
contrast  to  the  man's  dark,  serious  countenance. 
Her  dazzling  eyes  seemed  to  be  endowed  with  some- 
thing of  the  brilliancy  of  the  sunlight  that  was  so 
intensely  pouring  down  upon  them. 

**  Oh,  Seth,  I'm  so  sorry  !  "  she  cried,  in  anything 
but  a  penitent  tone,  "  but  just  as  I  was  starting  Wana 
came  up  wdth  a  note  for  you,  and  I'm  afraid  we 
stopped  and  talked,  and  you  know  w-hat  a  dozy  old 
mare  Hesper  is,  and  she  just  went  slower  than  ever, 
and  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  whack  her,  she's  such  a 
dear,  tame  old  thing,  and  so  I'm  ever  so  late,  and 
I'm  afraid  your  dinner's  all  spoiled,  and  you'll  be 
I'iorribly  angry." 

But  Seth  displayed  no  anger ;  he  only  held  out 
his  hand. 

"An'  the  note?" 

Rosebud  thought  for  a  moment.  "  Whatever  did 
I  do  with  it  ?  "  she  said,  looking  about  her  on  the 
ground.     Seth  watched  her  a  little  anxiously. 

*'  Who  was  it  from  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  just  the  old  Agent.  I  don't  suppose  it  was 
important,  but  I  know  I  put  it  somewhere." 

"  Guess  so." 

Seth  lifted  the  dinner-box  out  of  the  backboard. 
Suddenly  Rosebud's  face  cleared. 

"  That's  it,  Seth.  I  put  it  in  there.  In  with  the 
dinner.  Oh,  and,  Seth,  I  got  Ma  to  let  me  bring 
my  dinner  out,  so  we  can  have  a  picnic,  you  and  I, 
and  General." 


CROSS  PURPOSES  129 

Seth  was  bending  over  the  box. 

"  Then  I  guess  your  dinner's  kind  o'  spoiled  too," 
he  said. 

"  Oh,  that  doesn't  matter  so  long  as  yours  isn't. 
You  see  it's  my  own  fault,  and  serves  me  right.  If 
it's  very  nasty  we  can  give  it  all  to  General ;  so  it 
won't  be  wasted." 

"  No,  it  won't  be  wasted." 

Rosebud  watched  her  companion  remove  the 
things  from  the  box,  and  wondered  if  he  were  glad 
or  sorry  that  she  was  going  to  have  her  dinner  with 
him.  She  had  been  wildly  delighted  at  the  thought 
of  springing  this  surprise  on  him,  but  now  she  felt 
doubtful,  and  a  certain  shyness  kept  her  usually 
busy  tongue  silent  She  would  have  given  much  to 
know  what  Seth  thought.  That  was  just  where 
she  found  the  man  so  unsatisfactory.  She  never 
did  know  what  he  really  thought  about  any- 
thing. 

Seth  found  the  note,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
Now  he  set  their  meal  on  the  newly  cut  grass. 
Rosebud,  with  a  thoughtfulness  hardly  to  be  ex- 
pected of  her,  turned  Hesper  loose.  Then  she 
sat  down  beside  General  and  put  the  tin  dishes 
straight,  according  to  her  fancy.  In  silence  she 
helped  Seth  to  a  liberal  p>ortion  of  lukewarm  stew, 
and  cut  the  bread.  Then  she  helped  the  dog,  and, 
finally,  herself. 

"  Ma's  a  dear ! "  she  suddenly  exclaimed,  when 
the   silence    had    become   irksome  to  her.     "  She's 


I30      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

making  me  a  new  dress.  It's  a  secret,  and  I'm  not 
supposed  to  know." 

"  Ah  !     An'  how  d'  you  find  out  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  asked  Pa,"  Rosebud  laughed.  "  I  knew 
it  was  something  for  me.  So  when  he  went  to  look 
at  the  new  litter  of  piggies  this  morning  I  went  with 
him,  and  just  asked  him.  I  promised  not  to  give 
him  away.     Isn't  she  a  dear  ?  " 

**  Sure.     Guess  you  like  dress  fixin's.** 

"  Love  them." 

"  Most  gals  do,  I  reckon." 

"  Well,  you  see,  Seth,  most  girls  love  to  look  nice. 
Mrs.  Rankin,  even,  says  that  she'd  give  the  world  to 
get  hold  of  a  good  dressmaker,  and  she's  married. 
Do  you  know  even  Wana  likes  pretty  things,  and 
that's  just  what  I'd  like  to  talk  to  you  about  You 
see,  I've  got  twenty  dollars  saved,  and  I  just  thought 
I  would  get  Wana  a  nice  dress,  like  white  people 
wear.  I  mean  a  good  one.  Do  you  know  what 
store  I  could  send  to  in  Sioux  City,  or  Omaha,  or 
even  New  York  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  much  knowledge  o*  stores  an'  things. 
But  I  'lows  it's  a  good  notion." 

The  man's  brown  eyes  looked  over  at  the  girl  as 
she  plied  her  knife  and  fork. 

"  Maybe,"  he  went  on,  a  moment  later,  "  ther'  ain't 
no  need  to  spend  them  twenty  dollars.  I've  got 
some.  Say,  you  talk  to  Ma  an'  fix  the  letter  an'  Til 
mail  it." 

The  girl  looked  up.     Seth's  kindness  had  banished 


CROSS  PURPOSES  131 

the  ready  laugh  for  the  moment.  If  her  tongue  re- 
mained silent  her  eyes  spoke.  But  Seth  was  con- 
cerned with  his  food  and  saw  nothing.  Rosebud 
did  not  even  tender  thanks.  She  felt  that  she  could 
not  speak  thanks  at  that  moment.  Her  immediate 
inclination  was  a  childish  one,  but  the  grown  woman 
in  her  checked  it.  A  year  ago  she  would  have  acted 
differently.     At  last  Seth  broke  the  silence. 

"  Say,  Rosebud,"  he  said.  "  How'd  you  like  a 
heap  o'  dollars?" 

But  the  girl's  serious  mood  had  not  yet  passed. 
She  held  out  her  plate  to  General,  and  replied,  with- 
out looking  at  her  companion. 

"  That  depends,"  she  said.  "  You  see,  I  wouldn't 
like  to  marry  a  man  with  lots  of  money.  Girls  who 
do  are  never  happy.  Ma  said  so.  The  only  other 
way  to  have  money  is  by  being  clever,  and  writing, 
or  painting,  or  play-acting.  And  I'm  not  clever,  and 
don't  want  to  be.  Then  there  are  gfirls  who  inherit 
money,  but " 

"  That's  jest  it,"  broke  in  Seth. 

"Just  what  ?"  Rosebud  turned  from  the  dog  and 
eyed  her  companion  curiously. 

"  Why,  s'pose  it  happened  you  inherited  them 
dollars?" 

"  But  I'm  not  likely  to." 

"  That's  so.  But  we  know  your  folks  must  a'  been 
rich  by  your  silk  fixin's.  Guess  you  ain't  thought  o' 
your  folks." 

The  girl's  sunburnt  face  took  on  a  confident  little 


132       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

smile  as  she  looked  out  from  under  the  wide  brim  of 
her  hat. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have.  I've  thought  a  lot.  Where  are 
they,  and  why  don't  they  come  out  and  look  for  me  ? 
I  can't  remember  them,  though  I  try  hard.  Every 
time  I  try  I  go  back  to  Indians — always  Indians.  I 
know  I'm  not  an  Indian,"  she  finished  up  naively. 

*'  No."  Seth  lit  his  pipe.  "  Guess  if  we  did  find 
'em  you'd  have  to  quit  the  farm," 

There  was  a  short  silence. 

"  Seth,  you're  always  looking  for  them,  I  know. 
Why  do  you  look  for  them?  I  don't  want  them." 
Rosebud  was  patting  the  broad  back  of  General. 
"  Do  you  know,  sometimes  I  think  you  want  to  be 
rid  of  me.     I'm  a  trouble  to  you,  I  know." 

"  'Tain't  that  exacdy." 

Seth's  reply  sounded  different  to  what  h^  intended. 
It  sounded  to  the  girl  as  if  he  really  was  seeking  her 
parents  to  be  rid  of  her.  And  his  manner  was  so 
deliberate,  so  short.  She  scrambled  to  her  feet  with- 
out a  word,  and  began  to  gather  up  the  dishes.  Seth 
smoked  on  for  a  moment  or  two.  But  as  Rosebud 
showed  no  sign  of  continuing  the  conversation  he, 
too,  rose  in  silence,  and  went  over  to  Hesper  and 
hitched  her  to  the  buckboard.  Then  he  came  back 
and  carried  the  dinner-box  to  the  vehicle,  wh^le  Rose- 
bud mounted  to  the  driving-seat 

"  Seth,"  she  said,  and  her  face  was  slighdy  flushed, 
and  a  little  sparkle  of  resentment  was  in  her  ey^es, 
"when  you  find  them  Til  go  away.     I  never  looked 


CROSS  PURPOSES  133 

at  it  as  you  do.  Yes,  I  think  I  should  like  that  heap 
of  dollars." 

Seth  smiled  slowly.  But  he  didn't  quite  under- 
stand her  answer. 

"  Wal,  you  see,  Rosebud,  I'm  glad  you  take  it  that 
aways.  You  see  it's  better  you  should  go.  Yes, 
much  better." 

His  thoughts  had  turned  on  the  Reservations,  that 
one  direction  in  which  they  ever  seemed  to  turn. 
Rosebud  was  thinking  in  another  direction.  Seth 
wanted  to  be  rid  of  her,  and  was  meanly  cloaking 
his  desire  under  the  guise  of  her  worldly  welfare. 
The  diTigry  flush  deepened,  and  she  sat  very  erect 
with  her  head  held  high  as  she  drove  off.  Nor  did 
she  turn  for  her  parting  shot. 

"  I  hope  you'll  find  them  ;  I  want  to  go,"  she  said. 

Seth  made  no  answer.  He  watched  her  until  the 
vehicle  dropped  down  behind  the  brow  of  the  farther 
slope.  The  girl's  attitude  was  as  dignified  as  she 
could  make  it  while  she  remained  in  view.  After 
that  it  was  different  And  Seth  failed  to  realize  that 
he  had  not  made  his  meaning  plain.  He  saw  that 
Rosebud  was  angry,  but  he  did  not  pause  to  con- 
sider the  cause  of  her  anger. 

He  stood  where  she  had  left  him  for  some  time. 
He  found  his  task  harder  than  ever  he  had  thought 
it  would  be.  But  his  duty  lay  straight  before  him, 
and,  with  all  his  might,  he  would  have  hurried  on  his 
letter  to  England  if  he  could.  He  knew  he  could  see 
far  ahead  in  the  life  of  his  little  world  as  it  affected 


134      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

himself  and  those  he  loved.  He  might  oe  a  dull- 
witted  lover,  but  he  was  keen  and  swift  to  scent 
danger  here  on  the  plains ;  and  that  was  what  he  had 
already  done.  Cost  him  what  it  might,  Rosebud 
must  be  protected,  and  this  protection  meant  her  re- 
moval. 

He  sighed  and  turned  back  to  his  work,  but  before 
he  went  on  with  it  he  opened  and  read  the  note  which 
Rosebud  had  thought  so  unimportant. 

He  read  it  twice  over. 

"  Little  Black  Fox  applied  for  *  pass '  for  hunting. 
He  will  probably  leave  the  Reservation  in  three 
weeks'  time.  He  will  take  a  considerable  number  of 
braves  with  him ;  I  cannot  refuse. 

"J.  K" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  DEVOTION  OF  WANAHA 

Nevil  Steyne'S  day's  labor,  of  whatever  it  con- 
sisted, was  over.  Wanaha  had  just  lit  the  oil  lamp 
which  served  her  in  her  small  home. 

The  man  was  stretched  full  length  upon  the  bed, 
idly  contemplating  the  dusky  beauty  who  acknowl- 
edged his  lordship,  while  she  busied  herself  over  her 
shining  stove.  His  face  wore  a  half  smile,  but  his 
smile  was  in  nowise  connected  with  that  which  his 
eyes  rested  on. 

Yet  the  sight  he  beheld  was  one  to  inspire  pleas- 
urable thoughts.  For  surely  it  falls  to  the  lot  of  few 
men,  however  worthy,  to  inspire  one  woman  with 
such  a  devotion  as  Wanaha  yielded  to  him.  Besides, 
she  was  a  wonderful  picture  of  beauty,  colored  it  is 
true,  but  none  the  less  fair  for  that.  Her  long  black, 
braided  hair,  her  delicate,  high-bred  face  so  delight- 
fully gende,  and  her  great,  soft  black  eyes  which  had 
almost,  but  not  quite,  lost  that  last  latent  glimmer  of 
the  old  savage.  Surely,  she  was  worth  the  tenderest 
thought. 

But  Nevil's  thoughts  were  not  with  her,  and  his 
smile  was  inspired  by  his  thoughts.  The  man's 
mean,  narrow  face  had  nothing  pleasant  in  it  as  he 
smiled.     Some  faces  are  like  this.     He  was  a  degen- 


136      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

erate  of  the  worst  type ;  for  he  was  a  man  who  had 
slowly  receded  from  a  life  of  refinement,  and  mental 
retrogression  finds  painful  expression  on  such  a  face- 
A  ruffian  from  birth  bears  less  outward  trace,  for  his 
type  is  natural  to  him. 

Wanaha  always  humored  her  husband's  moods, 
in  which,  perhaps,  she  made  a  grave  error.  She  held 
silent  until  he  chose  to  sf)eak.  And  when  she  turned 
at  last  to  arrange  the  supper  table,  he  was  so  moved. 
The  smile  had  died  out  of  his  thin  face,  and  his  pale 
blue  eyes  wore  a  look  of  anxious  perplexity  when  he  • 
summoned  her  attention. 

"Wana,"  he  said,  as  though  rousing  himself  from 
a  long  worrying  thought,  "  we  must  do  something, 
my  Wana.     And — I  hardly  know  what." 

The  black  eyes  looked  straight  into  the  blue  ones, 
and  the  latter  shifted  to  the  table  on  which  the 
woman's  loving  hands  had  carefully  set  the  neces- 
saries for  supper. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said  simply,  "  you  who  are  clever 
— maybe  I  help." 

"That's  just  it,  my  Wana.  I  believe  you  can. 
You  have  a  keen  brain.     You  always  help  me." 

Nevil  relapsed  into  silence,  and  bit  nervously  at 
his  thumb  nail.  The  woman  waited  with  the  stoical 
patience  of  her  race.  But  she  was  all  interest,  for  had 
not  the  man  appealed  to  her  for  help  ? 

"It's  your  brother,"  Nevil  said  at  last.  "Your 
brother,  and  the  white  girl  at  the  farm,  Rosebud." 

"Yes." 


THE  DEVOTION  OF  WAN  AHA  137 

The  dark  eyes  suddenly  lit.  Here  was  a  matter 
which  lay  very  near  her  heart.  She  had  thought  so 
much  about  it.  She  had  even  dared  at  other  times  to 
speak  to  her  husband  on  the  subject,  and  advise  him. 
Now  he  came  to  her. 

"  Yes,"  the  man  went  on,  still  with  that  look  of 
perplexity  in  his  shifty  eyes ;  "  perhaps  I  have  been 
wrong.  You  have  told  me  that  I  was.  But,  you 
see,  I  looked  on  your  brother  as  a  child  almost. 
And  if  I  let  him  talk  of  Rosebud,  it  was,  as  I  once 
told  you,  because  he  is  headstrong.  But  now  he  has 
gone  far  enough — too  far.  It  must  be  stopped. 
The  man  is  getting  out  of  hand.  He  means  to  have 
her." 

Wanaha's  eyes  dilated.  Here  indeed  was  a  ter- 
rible prospect.  She  knew  her  brother  as  only  a 
woman  can  know  a  man.  She  had  not  noted  the 
melodramatic  manner  in  which  her  husband  had 
broken  ofT. 

"  You  say  well.  It  must  be  stop.  Tell  your 
Wana  your  thought.  We  will  pow-wow  like  great 
chiefs." 

"  Well,  that's  just  it,"  Nevil  went  on,  rising  and 
drawing  up  to  the  table.  '*  I  can't  see  my  way 
clearly.  We  can't  stop  him  in  whatever  he  intends. 
He's  got  some  wild  scheme  in  his  head,  I  know;  and 
I  can't  persuade  him.     He's  obstinate  as  a  mule." 

"  It  is  so.  Litde  Black  Fox  is  fierce.  He  never 
listen.  No.  But  vou  think  much.  You,  who  are 
clever  more  than  all  the  wise  men  of  my  race." 


138      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Wanaha  served  her  husband  with  his  food.  What- 
ever might  be  toward,  her  duty  by  him  came  first 
Nevil  sat  eating  in  what  appeared  to  be  a  moody 
silence.  The  velvety  eyes  watched  his  every  ex- 
pression, and,  in  sympathy,  the  woman's  face  became 
troubled  too. 

"  Well,  of  course  we  must  warn — some  one,"  Nevil 
went  on  at  last.  "  But  the  question  is,  who  ?  If  I 
go  to  the  Agent,  it'll  raise  trouble.  Parker  is  bull- 
headed,  and  sure  to  upset  Black  Fox.  Likely  he'll 
stop  his  going  hunting.  If  I  warn  old  Rube  Samp- 
son it'll  amount  to  the  same  thing.  He'll  go  to  the 
Agent.     It  must  be  either  Seth  or  Rosebud." 

"  Good,  good,"  assented  the  Indian  woman  eagerly 
"  You  say  it  to  Seth." 

Nevil  ate  silently  for  some  minutes,  while  the 
woman  looked  on  from  her  seat  beside  the  stove. 
Whatever  was  troubling  the  man  it  did  not  interfere 
with  his  appetite.  He  ate  coarsely,  but  his  Indian 
wife  only  saw  that  he  was  healthily  hungry. 

"  Yes,  you're  right  again,  my  Wana,"  Nevil  ex- 
claimed, with  apparent  appreciation.  "  I'd  prefer  to 
tell  Seth,  but  if  I  did  he'd  interfere  in  a  manner  that 
would  be  sure  to  rouse  your  brother's  suspicions. 
And  you  know  what  he  is.  He'd  suspect  me  or  you. 
He'd  throw  caution  to  the  devil,  and  then  there'd  be 
trouble.  It's  a  delicate  thing,  but  I  can't  stand  by 
and  see  anything  happen  to  your  chum,  my  Wana." 

"  No  ;  I  love  the  pale-face  girl,"  replied  Wanaha, 
simply 


THE  DEVOTION  OF  WANAHA  139 

"  It  comes  to  this,"  Nevil  went  on,  with  something 
like  eagerness  in  his  manner.  "  We  must  warn  her, 
and  trust  to  her  sense.  And  mind,  I  think  she's 
smart  enough." 

"How?" 

The  woman's  dark  eyes  looked  very  directly 
into  the  man's.  Nevil  was  smiling  again.  His 
anxiety  and  perplexity  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
vanished,  now  that  he  had  come  to  his  point ;  as 
though  the  detailing  of  his  fears  to  her  had  been  the 
real  source  of  his  trouble. 

"  Why,  I  think  it  will  be  simple  enough." 

The  man  left  the  table  and  came  to  the  woman's 
side.  He  laid  one  hand  caressingly  on  her  black 
hair,  and  she  responded  with  a  smiling  upward  glance 
of  devotion.  "  See,  you  must  tell  her  I  want  to 
speak  with  her.  I  can't  go  to  her.  My  presence  at 
the  farm  is  not  welcome  for  one  thing,"  he  said  bit- 
terly, "  and,  for  another,  in  this  matter  I  must  not  be 
seen  anywhere  near  her  I've  considered  this  thing 
well.     She  mustn't  come  here  either.     No." 

He  spoke  reflectively,  biting  his  long,  fair  mous- 
tache in  that  nervous  way  he  so  often  betrayed. 

'•  You,  my  Wana,  must  see  her  openly  at  the  farm. 
You  must  tell  her  that  I  shall  be  in  the  river  woods 
just  below  the  bridge,  cutting  wood  at  sundown  on 
Monday.  That's  three  days  from  now.  She  must 
come  to  me  without  being  seen,  and  without  letting 
any  one  know  of  her  visit.  The  danger  for  me,  for 
us,  my  Wana,  is  great,  and  so  you  must  be  extra 


140      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

careful  for  all  our  sakes — and  so  must  she.  Then  J 
will  tell  her  all,  and  advise  her." 

The  woman's  eyes  had  never  left  his  face.  The 
trust  and  confidence  her  look  expressed  were  almost 
touching.  She  did  not  question.  She  did  not  ask 
why  she  could  not  give  the  girl  her  warning.  Yes, 
she  understood.  The  proceeding  appealed  to  her 
nature,  for  there  is  no  being  in  the  world  to  compare 
with  the  Indian  when  native  cunning  is  required. 
She  could  do  this  thing.  Was  it  not  for  Rosebud  ? 
But,  above  all,  was  it  not  for  him  ?  The  honest  man 
rarely  puts  faith  in  a  woman's  capacity  outside  her 
domestic  and  social  duties.     The  rascal  is  shrewder. 

"  It  is  a  good  way,"  she  said,  in  her  deep,  soft 
voice,  after  much  thought,  "  And  I  go — yes.  I  tell 
her.  I  say  to  her  that  she  must  not  speak.  And 
she  say  '  yes.'  I  know  Rosebud.  She  clever  too. 
She  no  child."  She  paused,  and  the  man  moved 
away  to  his  seat  She  looked  over  at  him  and  pres- 
ently went  on.     "  Rosebud,  she  love  Seth.     I  know." 

Nevil  suddenly  swung  round.  Only  the  blind  eyes 
of  love  could  have  failed  to  detect  the  absolute  look 
of  triumph  which  had  leapt  to  the  man's  face.  Wan- 
aha  mistook  the  look  for  one  of  pleasure,  and  went 
on  accordingly,  feeling  that  she  had  struck  the  right 
note. 

**  Yes.  And  Seth,  he  love  too.  They  are  to  each 
as  the  Sun  and  the  Moon.  But  they  not  know  this 
thing.  She  think  Seth  think  she  like  sister.  Like 
Black  Fox  and  your  Wana.     But  I  know.     I  love 


THE  DEVOTION  OF  WANAHA  141 

my  man,  so  I  see  with  live  eyes.  Yes,  these  love. 
So."  And  the  dark  eyes  melted  with  a  consuming 
love  for  the  man  she  was  addressing. 

Nevil  sprang  from  his  seat,  and,  crossing  to  the 
dark  princess,  kissed  her  with  unwonted  ardor. 

'•Good,  my  Wana ;  you  are  a  gem.  You  see 
where  1  am  blind."  And  for  once  he  was  perfeci:ly 
sincere. 

"  It  good  ? "  she  questioned.  Nevil  nodded,  and 
at  once  the  woman  went  on.  "  So.  I  know  much. 
Rosebud  tell  me  much.  She  much  angry  with  Seth, 
She  say  Seth  always — always  look  for  find  her  white 
folks.  She  not  want  them — these  white  folks.  She 
love  Seth.  For  her  he  is  the  world.  So.  She  say 
Seth  angry,  and  want  her  go  away.  Wana  listen. 
Wana  laugh  inside.  Wana  love  too.  Seth  good. 
He  love  her  much — much.  Then  she  say  she  think 
Seth  find  these  white  folks." 

"Seth  has  found  Rosebud's — folk?" 

The  man's  brows  had  drawn  together  over  his 
shifty  blue  eyes,  and  a  sinister  look  had  replaced 
the  look  of  triumph  that  had  been  there  be- 
fore. 

"She  say  she  think." 

"  Ah  1  She  only  thinks."  Nevil's  thumb  was  at 
his  mouth  again. 

"  Yes." 

Wanaha  finished.  The  change  in  the  man's  face 
had  checked  her  desire  to  pursue  the  subject.  She 
did  not  understand  its  meaning,  except  that  her  talk 


142       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

seemed  no  longer  to   please  him ;    so  she  ceased. 
But  Nevil  was  more  interested  than  she  thought. 

"And  what  made  her  think  so?"  he  asked 
sharply. 

"  She  not  say." 

"  Ah,  that's  a  pity." 

The  room  became  silent.  The  yellow  light  of  the 
lamp  threw  vague  shadows  about,  and  these  two 
made  a  dark,  suggestive  picture.  The  woman's 
placid  and  now  inscrutable  face  was  in  marked  con- 
trast to  her  husband's.  His  displayed  the  swift 
vengeful  thoughts  passing  behind  it.  His  overshot 
jaws  were  clenched  as  closely  as  was  physically  pos- 
sible, while  his  pallid  eyes  were  more  alight  than 
Wanaha  had  ever  seen  them.  As  he  sat  there,  biting 
his  thumb  so  viciously,  she  wondered  what  had 
angered  him. 

'•  I  don't  see  how  he  could  have  found  them,"  he 
said  at  last,  more  to  himself  than  to  her.  But  she 
answered  him  with  a  quiet  reassurance,  yet  not  un- 
derstanding why  it  was  necessary. 

"She  only  think,"  she  said. 

"But  he  must  have  given  her  some  cause  to 
think,"  he  said  testily.  "  I'm  afraid  you're  not  as 
cute  as  I  thought," 

Wanaha  turned  away.  His  words  had  caused  her 
pain,  but  he  did  not  heed.  Suddenly  his  face 
cleared,  and  he  laughed  a  little  harshly. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  said  ;  "  I  doubt  if  he'll  lose  hei 
through  that." 


THE  DEVOTION  OF  WANAHA  143 

The  ambiguity  of  his  remark  was  lost  upon  the 
Indian.  She  heard  the  laugh  and  needed  no  more. 
She  rose  and  began  to  clear  the  table,  while  Nevil 
stood  in  the  open  doorway  and  gazed  out  into  the 
night. 

Standing  there,  his  face  hidden  from  Wanaha,  he 
took  no  trouble  to  disguise  his  thoughts.  And  from 
his  expression  his  thoughts  were  pleasant  enough, 
or  at  least  satisfactory  to  him,  which  was  all  he  could 
reasonably  expect. 

His  face  was  directed  toward  White  River  Farm, 
and  he  was  thinking  chiefly  of  Seth,  a  man  he  hated 
for  no  stronger  reason  than  his  own  loss  of  caste,  his 
own  degeneracy,  while  the  other  remained  an  honest 
man.  The  deepest  hatreds  often  are  founded  on 
one's  own  failings,  one's  own  obvious  inferiority  to 
another.  He  was  thinking  of  that  love  which 
Wanaha  had  assured  him  Seth  entertained  for  Rose- 
bud, and  he  was  glad.  So  glad  that  he  forgot  many 
things  that  he  ought  to  have  remembered.  One 
amongst  them  was  the  fact  that,  whatever  he  might 
be,  Wanaha  was  a  good  woman.  And  honesty 
never  yet  blended  satisfactorily  with  rascality. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  WARNING 

*'  Ma,"  exclaimed  Rosebud,  after  a  long  and  un- 
usual silence  while  she  was  washing  up  the  breakfast 
things,  and  Mrs.  Sampson  was  busy  with  some  clean- 
ing at  the  other  side  of  the  kitchen,  "  do  you  ever  get 
tired  of  your  work  here  ?     Your  life,  I  mean  ?  " 

It  was  early  morning.  Already  the  heat  in  the 
kitchen  was  intense.  Ma  looked  hot,  but  then  she 
was  stooping  and  polishing,  and  the  files  were 
provoking.  Rosebud,  in  linen  overall,  still  looked 
cool.  Her  face  was  serious  enough,  which  seemed 
to  be  the  result  of  some  long  train  of  thought  Ma 
suddenly  stopped  working  to  look  up,  and  waved  a 
protesting  hand  at  the  swarming  flies.  She  found 
the  girl's  violet  eyes  looking  steadily  into  hers. 
There  was  an  earnestness  in  their  depths  as  unusual 
as  the  seriousness  of  her  face.  The  old  woman  had 
been  about  to  answer  hastily,  but  she  changed  her 
mind. 

"Why  should  I,  child?"  she  said,  as  though  such 
a  contingency  were  out  of  all  reason.  "  It's  all  ours, 
I  guess.  It's  jest  ours  to  make  or  mar.  Ther'  isn't 
a  stick  on  this  farm  that  we  haven't  seen  set  ther', 
Rube  an'  me.     Tired  of  it  ?     Guess  the  only  tire  I'U 


THE  WARNING  145 

feel  *11  come  when  I  can't  set  foot  to  the  ground,  an' 
ain't  the  strength  to  kindle  a  stove  or  scrub  a  floor. 
Tired  ?  No,  child.  What  fixed  you  to  get  askin' 
that?" 

The  plates  clattered  under  Rosebud's  hands  els  she 
went  on  with  her  work.  Ma  eyed  the  stack  of  dishes 
in  some  doubt  She  thought  there  might  be  some 
excuse  for  the  girl  being  a  little  tired  of  domestic 
duties.  She  often  wondered  about  this.  Yet  she 
had  never  heard  Rosebud  complain ;  besides,  she 
had  a  wise  thought  in  the  back  of  her  head  about 
the  girl's  feelings  toward  at  least  one  of  their  little 
lamily  circle. 

*'  1  don't  quite  know,  Ma,"  the  girl  said  at  last 
Then  she  added  quickly,  feeling,  of  a  sudden,  that 
her  question  had  suggested  something  she  did  not 
intend.  "  Don't  think  I  am.  I  was  wondering  over 
something  else."  She  laughed  a  little  uncertainly, 
"  It's  Seth.  He's  always  harping  on  my  going  away. 
Always  thinking  of  the  time  when  my  people  are  to 
be  found.  And  I  just  wondered  if  he  thought  I  was 
tired  of  the  farm  and  wanted  to  be  away.  He's  so 
kind  and  good  to  me,  and  I  thought  he  might,  in  a 
mistaken  way,  believe  I'd  be  happier  in — well,  with 
those  people  who  have  forgotten  my  ver}'  existence. 
I  love  the  farm,  and — and  all  of  you.  And  I  don't 
\^ant  to  go  away." 

Ma  turned  again  to  her  work  with  a  wise  little 
smile  in  her  twinkling  eyes. 

"  Seth's  a  far-seein'  boy,  an'  a  good  boy  in  'most 


146      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

everything,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  indicating  whole 
hearted  affection ;  "  but  he's  like  most  folks  with 
head-pieces,  I  guess.  He  don't  stop  at  things  which 
it  is  given  to  men  to  understand.  Ef  I  wus  a  man 
I'd  say  of  Seth,  he's  li'ble  to  git  boostin'  his  nose 
into  places  not  built  fer  a  nose  like  his.  Seein'  I'm 
his  '  Ma,'  I'd  jest  say  he  ain't  no  call  to  git  figgerin' 
out  what's  good  fer  wimminfolk." 

"That's  just  what  I  think,"  exclaimed  Rosebud, 
with  a  quick  laugh.  "  He  made  me  quite  angry 
some  time  ago.  He  means  to  get  me  off  the  farm 
somehow.  And — and — I  could  just  thump  him  for 
it."  The  girl's  seriousness  had  passed,  and  she 
spoke  lightly  enough  now. 

"  Men-folk  do  rile  you  some,"  nodded  Ma.  But 
the  twinkle  had  not  left  her  eyes.  "  But,  my  girl,  I 
shouldn't  be  surprised  if  Seth's  got  mighty  good 
reason.     An'  it  ain't  to  do  with  his  personal  feelin's." 

Rosebud  went  on  with  her  washing  without  speak- 
ing. She  was  thinking  of  that  picnic  she  had  taken 
with  Seth  and  General  nearly  three  weeks  ago.  It 
had  almost  developed  into  a  serious  quarrel.  It 
would  have  done  so,  only  Seth  refused  to  quarrel. 

"  He  said,  one  day,  he  thought  it  was  better  I 
should  go.  Much  better,"  she  said,  presently. 
♦'  Well,  it  made  me  angry.  I  don't  want  to  go,  and 
I  don't  see  why  Seth  should  be  allowed  to  order 
me  to  go.  The  farm  doesn't  belong  to  him.  Be- 
sides  " 

•'  Well,  y'   see.   Rosebud,  you  re    forgettin'    Seth 


THE  WARNING  M7 

brought  you  here.  He's  a  kind  of  father  to  you." 
Ma  smiled  mischievously  in  the  girl's  direction,  but 
Rosebud  was  too  busy  with  her  own  thoughts  to 
heed  it. 

"  He's  not  my  father,  or  anything  of  the  kind. 
He's  just  Seth.  He's  not  thirty  yet,  and  I  am  eight- 
een. Pa's  a  father  to  me,  and  you  are  my  mother. 
And  Seth— Seth's  no  relation  at  all.  And  I'm  just 
not  going  to  call  him  '  Daddy  '  ever  again.  It's  that 
that  makes  him  think  he's  got  the  right  to  order  me 
about,"  she  added,  as  a  hasty  afterthought. 

Further  talk  was  interrupted  at  that  moment  by  a 
knock  at  the  back  door.  Rosebud  passed  out  into 
the  wash-house  to  answer  the  summons,  and  Ma 
Sampson  heard  her  greet  the  Indian  woman, 
Wanaha.  The  old  farm-wife  muttered  to  herself 
as  she  turned  back  to  her  work. 

"  Guess  Seth  ain't  got  the  speed  of  a  jibbin'  mule," 
she  said  slowly  and  emphatically. 

The  girl  did  not  return,  and  Ma,  looking  out  of 
the  window,  saw  the  two  women  walking  together, 
engaged  in  earnest  conversation.  She  looked  from 
them  to  the  breakfast  things,  and  finally  left  her 
own  work  and  finished  the  washing  up  herself.  It 
was  part  of  her  way  to  spare  Rosebud  as  much  as 
she  could,  and  the  excuse  served  her  now. 

While  Rosebud  was  receiving  a  visit  from  Wanaha 
at  the  back  of  the  house,  the  men-folk,  engaged  in 
off-loading  pine  logs  from  a  wagon,  were  receiving 
visitors  at  the  front  of  it.     The  Indian  Agent  and 


148       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Mr.  Hargreaves  had  driven  up  in  a  buckboard.  The 
Agent's  team  was  sweating  profusely,  a  fact  which 
the  sharp  eyes  of  Seth  were  quick  to  detect ;  also  he 
noted  that  Parker  was  driving  a  team  and  not  the 
usual  one  horse. 

**  Kind  o'  busy  ? "  questioned  Seth,  in  answer  to 
the  two  men's  greetings. 

The  Agent  glanced  at  the  steaming  horses  and 
nodded. 

"Going  into  Beacon  Crossing,"  he  said. 

"  Ah,"  said  Rube,  in  his  heavy,  guttural  fashion, 
**Gettin'  fixin's?" 

The  Agent  smiled,  and  nodded  at  the  minister 
beside  him. 

•'  Yes,  of  a  sort ;  we  both  are." 

"How?" 

It  was  Seth  who  spoke,  and  a  shade  more  sharply 
than  usual. 

"  Well,  I  want  to  send  a  wire  over  the  line,  and 
wait  a  reply.  We  shan't  be  out  again  until  Tuesday, 
and  that's  why  we  came  over.  There'll  be  no  sew- 
ing class  on  Monday.  You  see,  Mr.  Hargreaves  is 
going  with  me.  We  are  driving  instead  of  riding, 
because  we're  going  to  bring  out  some  small  arm 
ammunition.     We're  both  getting  short  of  it." 

The  Agent's  manner  was  casual  enough,  but  the 
minister's  face  was  grave.  The  former  endeavored 
to  pass  lightly  over  the  matter  of  the  ammunition. 

A  brief  silence  followed.  It  was  broken  at  last 
by  the  Agent  again. 


THE  WARNING  149 

*'  Getting  on  with  the  logs  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes.  We're  iixin'  a  big  corral  right  round  the 
farm." 

It  was  Rube  who  explained  ;  and  the  old  man 
glanced  from  Seth  with  a  comprehensive  survey  of 
the  proposed  enclosure. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Hargreaves,  "  I  shouldn't 
let  Rosebud  come  to  the  Mission  on  Sunday.  I 
shan't  be  there,  but  Jackson  from  Pine  Ridge  will 

hold  the  service.     You  see,  there's — well "     The 

churchman  broke  off,  and  turned  appealingly  to  the 
Agent. 

"  The  fact  is,"  Parker  said,  in  his  quick,  abrupt 
manner,  "  Jim  Crow  and  some  of  the  other  boys 
have  warned  me  that  these  red  heathens  are  '  making 
med'cine.'  1  don't  know  what  it  means — yet.  I 
wish  to  goodness  the  troops  were  nearer." 

The  Agent's  hard  face  was  very  set.  His  final  wish 
was  the  key-note  of  his  life.  His  was  truly  an  un- 
smiling existence. 

*'  So  you're  jest  goin'  in  to  sound  the  wamin'," 
observed  Seth.     The  other  nodded. 

'•  I'd  like  to  cancel  Little  Black  Fox's  pass  on 
Monday,"  Parker  went  on,  "  but  it  would  be  a  bad 
policy.  Anyway,  if  he  goes  out  for  a  month  the 
others  will  likely  keep  quiet  until  he  comes  back,  un- 
less of  course  this  pass  of  his  has  another  meaning. 
I  shall  have  him  tracked.  But — well,  we'd  best  get 
on.  I  should  give  some  slight  word  of  this  to  the 
Rankin  people  and  old  Joe  Smith,  north  of  you,  and 


ISO      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

any  one  else   you  have  time  to — I  mean  the  men. 
folk.     You  know,  the  usual  thing,  pass  it  on." 

After  a  few  more  remarks  the  buckboard  drove 
of?  and  Rube  and  Seth  returned  to  their  work.  The 
silence  between  them  was  broken  at  last  by  Rube, 

"  Seems  to  me  ther's  something  to  that  pass." 

"  Yes,"  said  Seth,  thoughtfully.  Then,  with  an 
impatient  gesture,  "  Guess  I'll  go  into  Beacon  myself 
to-day.  There's  a  thing  or  two  for  me  to  do.  Keep 
an  eye  on  the  wimminfolk.  Guess  I'll  git  goin' 
now." 

Seth's  announcement  was  received  without  ques- 
tion by  Rube,  for  there  was  perfect  understanding 
between  these  men. 

Half  an  hour  later  Seth  was  leading  his  horse 
from  the  barn  ready  saddled  for  the  journey.  As  he 
moved  out  he  saw  Rosebud  coming  toward  him 
from  the  house.  He  waited,  and  she  came  up  in 
something  of  a  flutter  of  confusion.  She  had  an  un- 
usual color,  and  her  eyes  were  sparkling.  Seth 
noted  these  things  while  he  appeared  to  be  arrang- 
ing the  contents  of  his  saddle-bags. 

"  Pa  says  you're  going  into  Beacon  Crossing, 
Seth,"  she  said  without  preamble,  as  she  stood  at  the 
horse's  head  and  idly  smoothed  its  velvety  muzzle 
with  her  soft  brown  hand. 

**  That's  so,"  the  man  answered. 

"  I've  written  a  letter  to  New  York  for  a  store 
price  list.     Will  you  mail  it  ?  " 

«•  Sure." 


THE  WARNING  151 

There  was  an  odd  smile  in  Seth's  dark  eyes.  He 
knew  this  was  not  the  girl's  object  in  coming  to  him. 
He  always  called  in  at  the  house  to  ask  for  letters  at 
the  last  moment  before  starting.  There  was  a  slight 
awkwardness  while  he  waited  for  the  girl  to  go  on. 

Suddenly  Rosebud  stooped  and  ran  her  hands 
down  the  horse's  fore-legs.  Her  face  was  thus  con- 
cealed 

"  Seth,  I  used  to  think  you  wanted  to  get  rid  of 
me.  You  remember?  Well,  I — I  think  I  know 
differently  now.  I'm  sure  1  do.  And  I  want  to  say 
I'm  sorry  for  being  angry  and  nasty  about  it  that 
time.     What  beautiful  clean  legs  Buck  has  got" 

"  Ye-es."  A  soft  light  shone  in  the  man's  steady 
eyes  as  he  gazed  upon  the  girl's  still  bent  figure. 
One  of  his  hands  was  resting  on  the  cande  of  his 
saddle,  and  for  a  moment  it  gripped  tight.  He  was 
suddenly  swept  by  a  passionate  longing  that  was 
hard  to  resist,  and  his  answer  came  in  a  slightly 
husky  tone.  "  You  see,  Rosie,  when  I  want  to  be 
quit  of  you,  it  ain't  for  anything  you  do  or  say, 
it's Guess  I  must  be  goin'." 

Rosebud  had  abruptly  straightened  up,  and  her 
bright  eyes  were  smiling  into  his  face.  At  that 
moment  Seth  could  not  support  the  flashing  inquiry 
of  them,  so  he  sought  safety  in  flight.  He  vaulted 
into  the  saddle  almost  as  he  spoke,  and,  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand,  rode  off,  leaving  her  undeniably  mistress 
of  the  situation. 

She  followed  him  with  her  eyes  as  he  rode  to  the 


152      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

kitchen  door  and  hailed  Ma.  Her  smile  was  stilJ 
wreathing  her  pretty  features  when  he  finally  headed 
away  for  the  trail.  It  became  more  and  more  tender 
as  horse  and  rider  receded,  and  at  last  she  turned 
away  with  a  sigh. 

*•  I  wonder  what  he'd  say  if  he  knew  what  I've 
promised  Wana?"  she  said  to  herself.  Then  she 
laughed  a  sudden,  wilful  laugh  as  she  remembered 
that  she  hadn't  given  him  her  letter. 

But  Seth  was  not  quite  free  to  go  his  way. 
Another  interruption  occurred  about  half  a  mile 
from  the  farm,  where  the  trail  dipped  so  that  he 
was  completely  hidden  from  view.  He  overtook 
Wanaha.  The  Indian  had  been  walking  steadily  on, 
but,  since  the  sound  of  his  horse's  hoofs  reached  her, 
she  had  been  waiting  at  the  roadside. 

He  greeted  her  and  would  have  passed  on,  but 
she  stopped  him,  addressing  him  in  her  soft,  flowery, 
native  tongue. 

"  It  is  of  Rosebud,"  she  said,  her  dark  eyes  look- 
ing solemnly  up  into  his.  "  My  brother,  the  great 
chief,  he  love  her,  and  in  his  love  is  danger  for  her. 
I  come.  And  I  tell  her  these  things.  You  love  her. 
So,  it  is  good.  You  know  Indian  as  no  other  knows, 
'cep*  my  man.  He  learn  this  danger,  and  he  send 
me  for  warning.  I  tell  her  to-day.  You  I  tell  too, 
for  you  have  much  knowledge  and  you  watch.     So  ' ' 

*  What  danger  ?  What  is  it  ?  "  Seth's  questions 
came  very  sharply. 

"  1  not  know.     It  is  so.     My  man  he  not  know 


THE  WARNING  153 

lie  say  only  'danger.'  He  say  Black  Fox  leave 
Reservation.  So,  watch.  An'  I  tell  you.  You 
must  speak  no  word,  or  there  danger  for  my  man 
too,  and  tor  Wanaha.     It  is  all." 

Seth  nodded. 

"  All  right.  I  understand.  You're  a  good  squaw, 
Wanaha." 

He  passed  on,  for  Wanaha  waited  for  no  ques- 
tions. She  had  done  what  she  thought  best.  Had 
not  Nevil  seen  the  gravity  of  the  matter?  But  of 
her  own  accord  she  had  gone  further  than  her  in- 
structions. She  had  warned  Seth,  whom  Nevil  had 
said  must  not  be  told.  For  once  in  her  life  Wanaha 
had  exercised  her  own  judgment  in  defiance  of  her 
husband's. 

The  squaw  passed  down  the  deep  prairie  furrow 
while  Seth  held  to  the  trail.  And  the  man's  thoughts 
went  back  to  the  interview  he  had  had  with  Rosebud 
that  morning.  So  it  was  Wanaha  who  had  caused 
her  to  come  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    MOVEMENTS   OF   LITTLE   BLACK  FOX 

The  woodlands  on  the  northern  side  of  the  great 
Reservations  of  Dakota  amount  almost  to  a  forest. 
From  Beacon  Crossing,  after  entering  the  Pine 
Ridge  Reservation,  a  man  might  travel  the  whole 
length  of  the  Indian  territory  without  the  slightest 
chance  of  discovery,  even  by  the  Indians  them- 
selves ;  that  is,  provided  he  be  a  good  woodsman. 
And  this  is  what  Seth  accomplished.  He  did  it 
without  any  seeming  care  or  unusual  caution.  But 
then  he  was  consummate  in  the  necessary  craft 
which  is  to  be  found  only  amongst  the  sons  of  the 
soil,  and,  even  then,  rarely  outside  the  few  who  have 
been  associated  with  Indians  all  their  lives. 

It  was  soon  after  sunrise  on  Monday  morning 
that  Seth  found  himself  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
principal  Indian  camp  of  the  Rosebuds.  Yet  none 
had  seen  him  come.  He  was  hidden  in  the  midst  of 
a  wide,  undergrown  bluff.  Directly  in  front  of  him, 
but  with  at  least  four  hundred  yards  of  uninter- 
rupted view  interv'ening,  was  the  house  of  Little 
Black  Fox. 

Seth  was  not  usually  a  hard  rider — he  was  far  too 
good  a  horseman — but  when  necessity  demanded  it 


MOVEMENTS  OF  LITTLE  BLACK  FOX     155 

he  knew  how  to  get  the  last  ounce  out  of  his  horse. 
He  had  left  the  farm  on  Saturday  morning,  and  at 
midnight  had  roused  the  postmaster  of  Beacon 
Crossing  from  his  bed.  Then,  at  the  hotel  of  Louis 
Roiheim,  he  had  obtained  a  fresh  horse,  and,  by- 
daylight  on  Monday  morning,  after  traveling  the 
distance  through  nothing  but  mazy  woodland,  had 
reached  the  locality  of  Little  Black  Fox's  abode. 
Thus  he  had  covered  something  like  one  hundred 
and  seventy  miles  in  less  than  forty-eight  hours. 
Nor  had  he  finished  his  work  yet. 

Now  he  lay  on  the  ground  in  the  shadow  of  the 
close,  heavy-foliaged  brush,  watching  with  alert,  un- 
tiring eyes.  Something  of  the  Indian  seemed  to 
have  grown  into  the  nature  of  this  uncultured  prod- 
uct of  the  prairie  world.  He  had  smothered  the 
only  chance  of  betrayal  by  blindfolding  his  horse, 
now  left  in  the  well-trained  charge  of  the  dog, 
General.  For  himself  he  gave  no  sign.  Not  a  leaf 
moved,  nor  a  twig  stirred  where  he  lay.  If  he 
shifted  his  position  it  must  have  been  done  in  the 
manner  of  the  Indians  themselves,  for  no  sound  re- 
sulted. He  knew  that  a  hundred  pairs  of  eyes  would 
infallibly  detect  his  presence  at  the  least  clumsy  dis- 
turbance of  the  bush.  For  the  Indian  is  like  the  bear 
in  his  native  woods.  He  may  be  intent  in  another 
direction,  but  the  disturbance  of  the  leaves,  however 
slight,  in  an  opposite  direction,  will  at  once  attract 
his  attention. 

The  squaws  were  astir  at  daylight     Now,  as  the 


156      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

sun  rose,  it  became  apparent  that  there  were  many 
prep>arations  going  forward  in  the  chief's  quarters. 
There  was  a  gathering  of  ponies  in  a  corral  hard  by 
Also  the  long  "  trailers,"  already  packed  with  tepee- 
poles  and  great  bundles  of  skins  and  blankets,  were 
leaning  against  the  walls  of  the  corral. 

To  Seth's  practised  eyes  these  things  denoted  an 
early  departure  ;  and,  by  the  number  of  ponies  and 
the  extent  of  the  equipment,  it  was  evidently  to  be  the 
going  of  a  large  party.  But  time  went  on,  and  no 
further  move  was  made.  Only  all  those  who  came 
and  went  seemed  busy  ;  not  on  account  of  what  they 
did,  but  from  their  manner  and  movement.  Through 
the  greater  part  of  the  day  Seth  kept  his  sleepless 
watch.  Only  once  did  he  abandon  his  post,  and 
then  merely  to  return  to  his  horse  tc  secure  food  from 
his  saddle-bags.  When  he  rose  to  go  thither  it  was 
to  be  seen  that  he  was  fully  armed,  which  had  not 
been  the  case  when  he  left  the  farm. 

Seth's  arguments  were  as  simple  and  straightfor- 
ward as  he  was  himself,  and  none  the  less  shrewd. 
The  position  was  this.  The  Indians  were  in  a  state 
of  ferment,  to  which,  of  course,  the  chief  was  party. 
Second,  the  chief  was  going  oflf  on  a  hunting  trip, 
and  apparently  abandoning  his  people  at  a  critical 
time.  Third,  he  had  received  warning  of  Rosebud's 
danger  from  one  whose  knowledge  and  good-will 
could  be  relied  on.  Fourth,  the  warning  had  come 
to  them,  indirectly,  from  the  one  man  who  he  now 
had  every  reason  to  suspect  had  no  very  good  will 


MOVEMENTS  OF  LITTLE  BLACK  FOX     i^? 

toward  Rosebud  ;  but  he  also  saw,  nr  thought  he 
saw,  the  reason  of  that  warning.  It  was  that  this 
man  might  dear  himself  should  the  chief's  plans  go 
wrong.  These  were  Seth's  arguments,  and  he  in- 
tended to  prove  them  by  remaining  on  Little  Black 
F'"ox's  trail  until  he  was  assured  that  the  danger  to 
Rosebud  no  longer  existed.  It  was  in  the  nature  of 
the  man  that  he  had  sought  no  outside  aid,  except 
that  of  his  faithful  General. 

The  story  the  watcher  read  as  he  observed  the 
Indians'  movements  was  a  long  one.  The  climax  of 
it  did  not  come  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  the 
conclusion  not  until  an  hour  later. 

The  climax  was  reached  when  he  saw  a  tall  figure 
coming  up  from  the  direction  of  the  bridge.  A  grim 
pursing  of  the  lips  lent  a  curious  expression  to  the 
smile  that  this  appearance  brought  to  his  face.  The 
man  was  clad  in  a  blanket,  and  his  gait  was  the  gait 
of  an  Indian.  There  was  nothing  to  give  any  other 
impression  to  the  casual  observer.  But  Seth  was  very 
intent,  and  he  saw  the  color  of  the  man's  face.  It  was 
then  that  his  lips  shut  tight  and  his  smile  deve]of)ed 
something  tigerish  in  its  appearance. 

However,  he  remained  quite  still,  and  saw  the  man 
pass  into  the  chief's  house.  He  did  not  reappear 
for  a  full  half-hour.  When  at  last  he  came  out  he 
departed  at  once  the  way  he  had  come.  Half  an 
hour  later  the  chiefs  ponies,  a  number  of  squaws,  and 
the  baggage,  set  out  accompanied  by  half  a  dozen 
mounted  bucks.     Another  half-hour  and  Little  Black 


158       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Fox  appeared  and  vaulted  to  the  back  of  his  waiting 
pony.  A  dozen  warriors  joined  him  almost  at  the 
same  moment,  gathering  from  different  directions, 
and  the  chief  rode  off  at  their  head. 

Then  it  was  that  Seth  rose  from  his  hiding-place. 
He  stood  watching  the  going  of  these  men  until  he 
had  made  sure  of  the  direction  they  were  taking. 
They  were  making  for  the  river  ford,  and  he  instantly 
ran  back  to  his  horse  and  mounted.  Just  for  a  sec- 
ond he  hesitated.  Then  he  set  off  for  the  wagon 
bridge  as  fast  as  he  could  urge  his  horse. 

It  was  late  the  same  afternoon  that  Charlie  Rankin 
rode  up  to  the  River  Farm  and  greeted  Rube,  who 
was  hard  at  work  upon  the  stockade.  He  was  a 
large,  cheery  Britisher,  with  a  florid  face  and  ready 
laugh.  He  drew  up  with  a  jerk,  sprang  to  the 
ground,  and  began  talking  with  the  perfect  freedom 
of  long  friendship. 

"  I've  passed  the  word,  Rube,"  he  said,  without 
any  preamble.  "  It's  gone  the  round  by  this  time. 
I  thought  I'd  run  over  and  consult  you  about  the 
womenfolk.  I'm  new  to  this  work.  You  are  an  old 
bird.     I  thought  of  sending  the  missis  into  Beacon." 

Rube  paused  in  his  work  and  surveyed  the  hori- 
zon, while,  in  his  slow  way,  he  wiped  tre  perspira- 
tion from  his  weather- furrowed  face, 

"  Howdy,  Charlie,"  he  said,  without  displaying  the 
least  concern.  "  Wal,  I  don't  know.  V  see  this 
thing's  li'ble  to  fizzle  some.     We've  had  'em  before 


MOVEMENTS  OF  LITTLE  BLACK  FOX     159 

Guess  my  missis  an*  the  gal  '11  stay  right  here  by  us. 
I  'low  I  feel  they're  safer  wi'  us.  Mebbe  it's  jest  a 
notion.  If  things  gits  hummin'  I'd  say  come  right 
along  over  an'  share  in  wi'  us.  Y'  see  if  it's  a  case 
of  git,  we'd  likely  do  better  in  a  party.  Seth's  away 
jest  now." 

The  old  man's  quiet  assurance  was  pleasant  to  the 
less  experienced  farmer.  There  was  soundness  in 
his  plans  too.     Charlie  nodded. 

"That's  good  of  you.  Of  course,  we've  got  the 
warning,  but  we  don't  know  how  far  things  are  mov- 
ing.    Do  you?" 

"  Wal,  no.  But  I  don't  think  ther's  anything  to 
worry  over  fer  a  week  or  two  " 

"I  thought  there  couldn't  be,  because  I  saw  your 
Rosebud  riding  down  toward  the  river  as  I  came 
along.     And  yet " 

But  Rube  broke  in  upon  him  vehemently. 

"Coin'  to  the  river?'  he  cried.  Then  his  usual 
slow  movements  suddenly  became  electrical.  He 
strode  away  to  the  bam,  and  left  Charlie  to  follow. 

"What's  up?"  the  latter  asked,  as  he  paused  in 
the  doorway. 

"Up?  Up?  What's  up?"  The  old  man  was 
saddling  a  big  raw-boned  mare  with  almost  feverish 
haste.  "  She's  no  right  goin'  that  aways.  An'  1 
promised  Seth,  too.  I  didn't  know  but  what  she  wus 
in  the  kitchen.  Here,  fix  that  bridle  while  I  get  into 
the  house.     Ha'  y'  got  your  gun?" 

"  Yes ;  but  why  ?  " 


i6o      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"Wal — y'  never  can  figger  to  these  durned  Injuns 
when  they're  raisin'  trouble." 

The  old  man  was  off  like  a  shot,  while  Charlie 
fixed  the  great  mare's  bridle.  He  returned  almost 
immediately  armed  with  a  brace  of  guns. 

"  Say,  ken  y'  spare  an  hour  or  so  ?  " 

As  Charlie  looked  into  the  old  farmer's  face  when 
he  made  his  reply  he  read  the  answer  to  all  he  would 
have  liked  to  ask  him.  Rube  was  consumed  witfi 
an  anxiety  that  no  words,  delivered  in  his  slow 
fashion,  could  have  conveyed  to  any  one  but  Seth. 

"  Certainly,  as  long  as  you  like." 

"  Good  boy,"  said  Rube,  with  an  air  of  relief.  "  I 
wouldn't  ask  you,  but  it's  fer  her."  And  the  two 
men  rode  off  hastily,  with  Rube  leading. 

"  By-the-way,"  said  Charlie,  drawing  his  horse  up 
alongside  the  dun-colored  mare,  "  Joe  Smith,  north 
of  us,  says  some  neighbor  of  his  told  him  there  were 
tents  on  the  plains  further  north.  I  was  wondering. 
The  troops  haven't  been  sent  for,  have  they?" 

Can't  say,"  said  Rube,  without  much  interest. 
Then  he  asked  hastily,  *'  Which  way  was  she 
headin'  ?  " 

The  question  showed  the  trend  of  his  whole 
thought 

"  Why,  straight  down." 

*'  Ah,  Nevil  Steyne's  shack." 

"  He  lives  that  way,  doesn't  he?*' 

"  Yes." 

The  two  men  rode  on  in  silence.     This  was  the 


MOVEMENTS  OF  LITTLE  BLACK  FOX     i6i 

first  time  Charlie  had  ever  seen  Rube  disturbed  out 
of  his  deliberate  manner.  He  made  a  mental  resolve 
to  bring  his  wife  and  children  into  White  River  Farm 
at  the  first  sign  of  actual  danger. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

;  GENERAL  DISTINGUISHES  HIMSELF 

Never  since  her  first  coming  to  the  farm  had 
Rosebud  been  forced  to  keep  her  goings  and  com- 
ings secret.  But  Wanaha  had  made  it  imperative 
now.  It  went  sorely  against  the  girl's  inclination, 
for  she  hated  deception  of  any  kind ;  and  she  knew 
that  what  she  meditated  was  a  deception  against 
those  she  loved.  Consequently  she  was  angry ; 
angry  with  Wanaha,  angry  with  the  Indians,  but 
most  of  all  with  herself.  Wanaha  had  asked  for  a 
secret  visit  to  Nevil  Steyne,  who  was  cutting  wood 
below  the  bridge. 

But  in  spite  of  her  anger,  as  she  made  the  neces- 
sary detour  for  concealment  in  one  of  those  deep 
troughs  amid  the  billows  of  grass-land,  there  was  a 
sparkle  of  anticipation  and  excitement  in  her  violet 
eyes.  Before  she  was  half-way  to  the  woods  that 
lined  the  river  the  last  shadow  of  her  brief  anger  had 
passed  from  her  face.  After  all,  she  told  herself  in 
weak  excuse,  what  she  was  doing  was  only  a  very 
little  matter,  and,  perhaps — who  could  tell? — she 
might  learn  something  that  would  be  useful  to  Seth, 
who  cared  for  nothing  and  nobody  in  the  world  but 
the   Indians.     So   she   rode  on  quite  fearless,  with 


GENERAL  DISTINGUISHES  HIMSELF      163 

no  graver  qualms  than  the  very  slightest  twinge  of 
conscience. 

As  she  rode  she  debated  with  herself  the  manner 
in  which  she  was  to  conceal  her  destination  from 
chance  observers.  Wilful  and  irresponsible  as  Rose- 
bud always  appeared  to  be,  there  was  yet  something 
strongly  reliant  in  her  nature.  She  was,  as  so  many 
girls  are,  a  child  in  thought  and  deed  until  some 
great  event,  perchance  some  bereavement,  some 
tragedy,  or  some  great  love,  should  come  to  rouse 
the  dormant  strength  for  good  or  ill  which  lies  hidden 
for  years,  sometimes  for  life,  in  nearly  every  daughter 
of  Eve. 

The  result  of  her  debate  was  a  decision  to  head 
for  the  ford  when  once  she  was  out  of  view  of  the 
farm.  She  argued,  if  Nevil  Steyne  were  cutting 
wood  below  the  bridge,  as  Wanaha  had  told  her, 
then  by  entering  the  woods  at  the  ford  she  could 
make  her  way  through  them  until  she  came  to  him. 
Thus  she  would  not  show  herself  near  h^  hut,  or 
near  where  he  might  be  known  to  be  working. 

So,  in  the  waning  daylight,  she  cantered  over  the 
scented  grass  without  a  thought  of  the  danger  which 
Wanaha  had  hinted  to  her.  She  was  defenceless, 
unarmed,  yet  utterly  fearless.  Her  spirit  was  of  the 
plains,  fresh,  bright,  strong.  Life  to  her  was  as  the 
rosy  light  of  dawn,  full  of  promise  and  hope.  Her 
frail  figure,  just  budding  with  that  enchanting  prom- 
ise of  magnificent  womanhood,  swaying  to  the  light 
gait  of  her  broncho,  \»'as  a  sight  to  stir  the  pulse  of 


i64      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

any  man.  It  was  no  wonder  that  the  patient,  serious 
Seth  watched  over  her,  shielding  her  with  every 
faculty  alert,  every  nerve  straining,  all  his  knowledge 
of  that  living  volcano  over  which  they  lived  brought 
into  service. 

Some  such  thoughts  as  these  may  have  passed 
through  Charlie  Rankin's  mind  when  he  saw  her  as 
he  passed  on  his  way  to  the  farm.  For  men  are  like 
this.  Married  or  single  they  always  have  an  eye  for 
feminine  beauty,  only  when  they  are  married  they 
generally  keep  their  observations  to  themselves — if 
they  be  wise. 

The  sun  was  almost  upon  the  horizon  when  the 
girl  reached  the  ford.  The  rift  in  the  woods,  which 
formed  a  wagon  trail,  was  very  narrow,  and  even 
though  the  sun  had  not  yet  set,  the  spot  was  dark 
and  sombre  by  reason  of  the  wall  of  pine  trees  which 
lined  it  upon  each  side. 

Just  for  a  second  Rosebud  experienced  the  dark 
moody  influence  of  the  gloomy  pine  canopy  beneath 
which  she  was  to  plunge.  Like  all  high-spirited 
creatures  she  had  no  love  for  any  form  of  gloom. 
And  there  is  nothing  in  nature  that  can  compare 
with  the  American  pinewoods  for  gloom.  Stately, 
magnificent,  if  you  will,  but  funereal  in  their  gloom. 

Something  of  her  surroundings  now  found  reflec- 
tion in  the  expression  of  her  fair  face  as  she  plunged 
down  the  solemn  aisles  of  black,  barren  tree  trunks, 
iike  columns  supporting  the  superstructure  of  some 
Gothic  cathedral. 


GENERAL  DISTINGUISHES  HIMSELF      165 

Her  broncho  was  forced  to  take  his  way  carefully, 
and  thus  his  gait  was  reduced  to  little  better  than  a 
walk.  Further  in,  the  tree-trunks  gave  way  occasion- 
ally to  patches  of  undergrowth.  Then  they  became 
mixed  with  other  growths.  Maple  and  spruce  held 
place  and  made  her  course  more  awkward,  and 
further  hindered  her.  The  blue  gums  crowded  so 
closely  that  frequently  she  was  driven  to  considera- 
ble detour.  Gradually  the  maze  began  to  confuse 
her.  She  started  to  reckon  the  whereabouts  of  the 
river,  a  process  which  confused  her  more.  But  she 
kept  on,  her  whole  attention  concentrated, — so  much 
so  that  even  her  object  was  almost  forgotten. 

So  engrossed  was  she  that  she  failed  to  notice  that 
her  horse  had  suddenly  become  very  alert.  His 
large,  low-bred  ears,  that  weathercock  of  the  horse- 
man, were  pricked  up,  and  he  looked  inquiringly 
from  side  to  side  as  he  picked  his  way.  Once  he 
gave  a  short,  suppressed  whinny. 

The  girl's  perplexity,  however,  was  strong  upon 
her.  She  did  not  hear  it,  or,  if  she  did,  it  conveyed 
nothing  to  her.  Her  brows  were  puckered,  and  she 
gazed  only  ahead.  Had  she  paused  she  must  have 
heard  that  which  had  drawn  her  horse's  attention. 
But  she  kept  on,  struggling  with  the  maze  about  her, 
and  so  heard  no  sound  of  the  breaking  brush  upon 
either  side  of  her. 

She  was  more  than  half-way  to  the  bridge,  when, 
to  her  intense  relief,  she  saw  daylight  ahead  through 
the  overshadowing  foliage.     She  pushed  on  urgently, 


1 66      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

and  jiighed  her  relief ;  it  was  a  clearing.  That  open. 
ing  meant  more  to  her  than  she  would  have  admitted. 
To  see  the  sky  again,  to  breathe  air  that  was  kesh, 
free  from  the  redolence  of  the  forest  underlay,  was  all 
she  desired. 

The  clearing  was  fringed  with  a  low,  thorny  brush, 
which,  as  she  came  to  it,  caught  her  skirt,  and  forced 
her  to  draw  rein,  and  stoop  to  release  it. 

While  thus  occupied  her  broncho  threw  up  his  head 
and  gave  a  tremendous  neigh.  The  sound  startled 
her,  as  these  things  will  startle  the  strongest  when 
all  is  profoundly  silent.  But  what  followed  was  more 
startling  still.  Not  one,  but  half  a  dozen  echoes  at 
least  responded,  and,  with  a  thrill,  the  girl  sat  up. 
The  next  moment  she  had  spurred  her  horse  and 
charged,  regardless  of  the  thorns,  into  the  midst  of 
the  clearing. 

As  she  came  a  wave  of  horror  swept  over  her. 
Simultaneous  with  her  entry  a  mounted  Indian  ap- 
peared from  the  opposite  side.  Others  appeared, 
each  from  a  different  direction,  silent,  but  with  auto- 
matic precision.  To  her  right  she  saw  them  ;  to  her 
left ;  and  behind  her,  too.  A  deliberate  ring  of  silent 
sentries  had  formed  themselves  about  her,  almost  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

The  girl's  first  terror  was  almost  overwhelming, 
and  her  impulse  was  to  shriek  aloud.  But  the  shock 
of  that  ghostly  appearance  passed,  not  because  the 
danger  appeared  to  lessen,  but  because  her  nerves 
were  healthy,  and  she  somehow  possessed  sympathy 


GENERAL  DISTINGUISHES  HIMSELF     167 

with  the  red  men.  Mechanically  she  noticed,  too, 
that  they  were  blanketed,  as  in  peace.  They  had 
donned  no  feathers  or  paint.  Nor  could  she  see 
aught  of  any  firearms.  So  her  courage  returned,  but 
she  did  not  attempt  to  move  or  speak. 

She  was  not  long  left  in  doubt.  With  crude,  dra- 
matic effect  Little  Black  Fox  suddenly  appeared  from 
the  adjacent  woods.  He  rode  into  the  ring  on  his 
black  pony,  sitting  the  sleek  beast  in  that  haughty 
manner  which  is  given  to  the  Indian  alone,  and  which 
comes  from  the  fact  that  he  uses  no  saddle,  and  sits 
with  the  natural  pose  of  a  lithe  figure  that  is  always 
carried  erect. 

He  wore  no  blanket.  He  was  clad  from  head  to 
foot  resplendent  in  beaded  buckskin,  his  long  black 
hair  flowing  beneath  his  crown  of  feathers  and  falling 
upon  his  shoulders.  His  handsome  face  was  un- 
scarred  by  any  barbaric  markings  such  as  many  of 
his  warriors  displayed.  He  was  fresh  and  young ; 
his  eyes  were  flashing  with  deep  emotion,  and  lit  up 
his  dusky  countenance  with  a  smile  that  had  nothing 
gentle  in  it.  He  was  every  inch  a  chief.  Nor  was 
there  any  mistaking  the  barbaric  lover  that  looked 
out  of  his  eyes. 

Rosebud  unconsciously  drew  herself  up.  There 
was  no  responsive  smile  upon  her  face.  She  knew 
there  was  mischief  looming,  and  the  woman  in  her 
was  stirred  to  the  depths.  Young  as  she  was  she 
realized  that  that  ring  of  sentries  about  her  could 
mean  but  one  thing.     Now,  when  it  was  too  late,  she 


i68      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

recalled  Seth's  many  warnings,  and  bitterly  repented 
her  unutterable  folly  in  ever  going  near  this  wild, 
untried  young  chieftain. 

She  kept  silent.  But  the  seconds  that  passed  as 
the  man  rode  up  were  trying.  He  rode  to  within  six 
inches  of  her,  and  their  horses  stood  head  to  tail. 
Then  he  spoke  in  his  native  Sioux  tongue,  which  so 
lends  itself  to  the  expression  of  ardent  passion. 

"  The  sun  has  no  brightness  like  the  eyes  of  the 
paleface  princess,"  he  said,  his  proud  face  serious, 
and  his  eyes  steady  and  flashing.  There  was  almost 
a  flush  under  the  dusky  skin  of  his  cheeks.  "  The 
waters  of  the  great  lakes  are  deep,  but  the  depth  is 
as  nothing  to  the  blue  of  the  princess's  eyes.  She  is 
queen  of  her  race,  as  Little  Black  Fox  is  king  of  his 
race.  The  king  would  wed  the  queen,  whose  eyes 
make  little  the  cloudless  summer  sky.  He  loves 
her,  and  is  the  earth  beneath  her  feet.  He  loves 
her,  and  all  his  race  shall  be  her  servants.  He  loves 
her,  and  all  that  is  his  is  hers.  So  there  shall  be 
everlasting  peace  with  her  people  and  his.  His 
heart  is  swept  with  a  passion  which  is  like  to  the 
fiercest  blizzard  of  the  plain.  But  its  blast  is  hot : 
hotter  and  swifter  than  the  fiercest  heats  of  earth 
There  is  no  peace  for  him  without  the  white  princess. 
He  is  ever  at  war.  The  body  fights  with  the  brain, 
and  his  heart  is  torn.     So  he  would  wed  the  princess." 

Even  in  her  extremity  something  of  the  real  pas- 
sion of  this  wild  youth  found  a  chord  of  sympathy 
in    Rosebud's    heart.      His   sincerity,    his    splendid 


GENERAL  DISTINGUISHES  HIMSELF     169 

personality,  savage  though  he  was,  made  her  listen 
attentively.  The  woman  in  her  was  not  insensible 
CO  his  address,  but  the  very  truth  of  his  passion 
roused  her  fears  again  to  the  topmost  pitch.  There 
was  no  mistaking  those  horsemen  surrounding  her. 
She  gave  one  little  helpless  glance  around  at  them 
that  surely  would  have  melted  the  heart  of  any 
white  man.  But  the  impassive  faces  held  out  no 
hope  to  her.     She  was  at  this  man's  mercy. 

Now,  oddly  enough,  when  she  might  have  been 
expected  to  cry  out  in  her  terror,  her  anger  rose. 
That  quick  rising  anger  which  Seth  understood  so 
well  and  smiled  at.  And  she  spoke  without  a 
shadow  of  fear  in  her  tone.  Her  use  of  the  Sioux 
tongue  was  not  perfect,  and  her  words  gained  force 
therefrom. 

"  The  princess  cannot  wed  the  chief,"  she  said. 
"  It  is  not  according  to  the  law  of  the  palefaces. 
Go — go  back  to  your  tepees,  and  the  squaws  of  }our 
race.  Leave  me  to  go  in  peace.  I  have  to  go  back 
to  my  people." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  during  which  a 
dog's  yelp  might  have  been  heard  by  any  less  oc- 
cupied. The  sound  was  such  as  is  the  yelp  of  a 
foxhound  drawing  a  cover.  The  chief's  face  had 
changed  its  expression  ;  his  passion  was  subservient 
to  his  native  ferocity,  and  his  face  displayed  it. 

"  I  have  asked,"  he  said,  "  I,  Little  Black  Fox, 
who  am  chief.  I  have  said  come  to  me.  The  pale- 
face girl  treats  me  like  any  dog.    So.     I  have  dcme. 


I/O      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

The  spirit  of  Big  Wolf,  my  father,  enters  my  body 
Like  him,  who  took  the  princess  and  held  her  for  his 
son,  I  will  take  that  for  which  I  have  asked.     There 
shall  be  no  peace  with  your  race." 

He  raised  an  arm  to  seize  her  by  the  waist.  The 
girl  saw  his  intention,  and  a  wild  fear  dilated  her 
eyes.  But  she  did  not  lose  her  head.  She  suddenly 
spurred  her  broncho  with  a  little  vicious  stab.  The 
animal,  already  on  his  mettle,  charged  forward 
desperately,  taking  the  pony  of  the  Indian  facing  it 
in  the  chest  and  throwing  it  back  upon  its  haunches. 
But  the  chief  was  round  like  lightning.  He  saw 
nothing,  heeded  nothing  but  the  possible  escape  of 
this  white  girl,  and  that  he  had  no  intention  of  per- 
mitting. Had  he  been  less  engrossed  he  would 
have  seen  a  dog  rush  madly  into  the  clearing,  and, 
in  the  manner  of  a  cattle  dog,  incontinently  begin  a 
savage  assault  on  the  heels  of  the  Indians'  ponies. 
No  human  intelligence  could  have  conceived  a  more 
effective  plan,  for  the  braves  were  thrown  into  utter 
confusion. 

Litde  Black  Fox  came  up  with  the  fugitive,  and, 
leaning  over,  caught  the  girl  in  his  strong  young 
arms.  He  meant  to  lift  her  from  the  saddle,  but  he 
held  her  thus  only  for  a  bare  second.  There  was  the 
sharp  crack  of  a  revolver,  and  Rosebud  felt  his  grasp 
relax.  He  sat  up  on  his  horse  and  looked  about  him 
fiercely,  then  he  reeled  and  clutched  his  pony's  mane, 
while  Seth,  shouting  encouragement  to  the  terrified 
girl,  came  at  him  from  out  of  the  woods. 


GENERAL  DISTINGUISHES  HIMSELF     171 

He  came  with  such  a  cry  of  rage  and  fury  that  his 
voice  was  almost  unrecognizable.  His  face,  usually 
so  calm,  was  flaming.  His  smoking  revolver  was 
raised  aloft  and,  as  his  horse  charged  into  that  of 
the  wounded  chief,  it  fell  crashing  on  to  the  be- 
feathered  head,  and  the  man  went  down  like  a  log. 

"  You  gol  durned  black  heathen  ! "  Seth  cried. 
Then  his  rage  died  out  before  the  greater  emergency. 
"  Ride,  Rosebud  I  The  woods,  and  turn  left.  Ride 
like  hell  !  " 

It  was  all  he  had  time  for.  He  turned  again  in 
time  to  empty  another  chamber  of  his  gun  into  the 
stomach  of  an  Indian,  who  came  at  him  with  an 
upraised  axe.  Then,  as  the  man  rolled  from  his 
horse,  he  saw  that  the  rest  had  discarded  their 
blankets — their  wearing  of  which  had  probably 
saved  him — and   now   meant   battle   to   the   death. 

He  fully  realized  that  he  had  no  chance  of  escape, 
but  he  meant  to  give  them  all  he  could  before  the 
end  came.  One  Indian  raised  a  queer  old  rifle  at 
him,  but  he  let  it  drop  before  it  was  discharged 
Another  bullet  had  found  its  billet  in  the  pit  of  the 
man's  stomach. 

General,  who  had  taken  himself  of!  when  Rosebud 
departed,  now  returned  to  the  scene.  He  came  with 
his  fierce,  canine  worrying  just  as  the  rest  of  the 
Indians  charged  their  solitary  adversary.  His 
diversion  helped  to  check  their  onslaught,  but  only 
for  a  second.  They  had  abandoned  their  firearms 
in  favor  of  their  native  weapons  as  they  came. 


172      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Seth  was  powerless  against  such  odds.  There 
was  no  hope.  His  revolver  cracked  and  more  than 
one  man  fell,  but  they  closed  with  him,  and,  as  his 
last  barrel  was  emptied,  he  felt  the  flesh  of  his  left 
shoulder  rip  under  the  slashing  blow  of  an  axe.  His 
horse  reared  and  for  the  moment  took  him  clear  of 
the  horde,  and  at  the  same  instant,  he  heard  the 
deep  tones  of  Rube's  voice  shouting  to  him.  The 
Indians  heard  it,  too.  They  turned,  and  the  fire  of 
revolvers  from  this  new  direction  greeted  them. 
They  could  murder  one  man,  but  reinforcements 
were  different.  It  was  enough.  As  Rube  and 
Charlie  Rankin  galloped  into  the  clearing  they 
broke  and  fled. 

'•  Rosebud  ?  "  cried  Rube  in  a  voice  of  agonized 
suspense. 

Seth  had  swung  his  horse  round  and  led  the  way 
out  of  the  clearing  in  the  track  the  girl  had  taken. 

"  Come  on  !  "  he  cried.  And,  in  a  moment,  the 
battle  ground  was  deserted  by  all  but  the  wounded 
Indians. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   LETTER   FROM   ENGLAND 

**  La,  child,  an'  why  did  you  go  for  to  do  it  ?  " 

Ma  was  bending  over  Seth,  bathing  the  ugly  flesh 
wound  in  his  shoulder.  Her  old  eyes  were  pathet- 
ically anxious  behind  her  spectacles,  but  her  touch 
was  sure  and  steady.  Her  words  were  addressed  to 
Rosebud,  who  was  standing  by  with  a  handful  of 
bandages.  The  girl  made  no  reply,  and  her  eyes 
were  fixed  on  this  result  of  her  escapade.  She  was 
pale,  and  her  young  face  looked  drawn.  The  violet 
of  her  eyes  was  noticeably  dull,  and  it  was  easy  to 
see  that  she  was  struggling  hard  to  keep  tears  back. 
She  simply  could  not  answer. 

Seth  took  the  task  upon  himself.  He  seemed  to 
understand,  although  he  was  not  looking  her  way. 

"  Don't  worrit  the  gal,  Ma,"  he  said,  in  his  gentle 
fashion,  so  that  Rosebud  felt  like  dropping  the 
bandages  and  fleeing  from  the  room.  "  Say,  jest 
git  right  to  it  an'  fix  me  up.  I  'low  ther's  li'ble  to  be 
work  doin'  'fore  this  night's  out." 

"  God  a-mussy,  I  hope  not,  Seth,  boy ! "  the  old 
woman  said,  with  a  deep  intake  of  breath.  But  her 
busy  fingers  hastened.  She  tenderly  laid  the  wool, 
saturated  in  carbolic  oil,  upon  the  gash.     Seth  bor;^ 


174      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

it  without  flinching.  "  More'n  six  year,"'  she  added, 
taking  the  bandages  from  Rosebud  and  applying 
them  with  the  skill  of  long  experience,  "an'  we've 
had  no  trouble,  thank  God.  But  I  knew  it  'ud  come 
sure.     Rube  had  it  in  his  eye." 

"Wher's  Rube  now?"  asked  Seth,  cutting  her 
short. 

"  Doin"  guard  out  front." 

The  bandage  was  adjusted,  and  Seth  rose  and  was 
helped  into  his  coat. 

•'  Guess  I'll  git  out  to  him." 

He  found  it  hard,  for  once,  to  sit  in  there  with  the 
womenfolk.  His  feeling  was  one  common  to  men 
of  action. 

"You're  feelin'  easy?"  Ma  asked  him  anxiously, 
as  he  moved  to  the  door. 

"  Dead  right.  Ma." 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head  doubtfully,  and 
Rosebud's  troubled  eyes  follow^ed  him  as  he  moved 
away.  She  had  scarcely  spoken  since  they  returned 
to  the  house.  Her  brain  was  still  in  a  whirl  and  she 
was  conscious  of  a  weak,  but  almost  overpowering, 
inclination  to  tears.  The  one  thing  that  stood  out 
above  all  else  in  her  thoughts  was  Seth's  wound. 

No  one  had  questioned  her ;  no  one  had  blamed 
her.  These  simple  people  understood  her  feelings 
of  the  moment  too  well.  Later  they  knew  they 
would  learn  all  about  it.  For  the  present  there  was 
plenty  to  be  done. 

Rube  had  been  making  preparations.     Their  plans 


THE  LETTER  FROM  ENGLAND  175 

needed  no  thinking  out.  Such  an  emerg-ency  as  the 
present  had  always  been  foreseen,  and  so  there  was 
no  confusion.  Charlie  Rankin  had  gone  on  to  old 
Joe  Smith,  and  that  individual  would  be  dispatched 
post-haste  in  the  direction  of  the  white  tents  that  had 
been  seen  on  the  plains.  For  the  rest  the  horses  in 
the  barn  were  ready  harnessed,  and  Ma  could  be 
trusted  to  get  together  the  household  things  ready 
for  decamping.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
keep  a  night-long  watch. 

Seth  had  crossed  the  passage,  and  was  passing 
through  the  parlor,  out  of  whicH  the  front  door 
opened.  Rosebud  hesitated.  Then  with  something 
almost  like  a  rush  she  followed  him.  She  was  at  his 
side  in  a  moment,  and  her  two  small  hands  were 
clasping  his  rough,  strong  right  hand. 

"  Seth,"  she  whispered,  tearfully.     "  I " 

"Don't,  little  Rosie  ! "  the  man  interrupted,  at- 
tempting to  draw  his  hand  gently  from  her  grasp. 
"  Guess  ther'  ain't  no  need  to  say  anything.  Mebbe 
I  know." 

But  Seth  had  misinterpreted  her  action.  He 
thought  she  meant  to  explain.  She  kept  hold  of  his 
hand,  and  tears  were  in  her  lovely  eyes  as  she  looked 
up  into  his  dark  face,  now  little  more  than  a  shadow 
in  the  faint  light  that  came  from  the  passage. 

"  Oh,  Seth,  Seth,  it  was  all  my  fault  1 "  she  cried, 
in  her  distress.     "  Your  poor  shoulder  I     Oh,  what 

should  I  do  if  you  were  to  die  !     Oh "     And  the 

girl  fell  on  her  knees  at  his  side  and  kissed  the  hand 


176      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

she  was  clinging  to.  The  long  threatened  tears 
had  come  at  last,  and  her  voice  was  choked  with 
sobs. 

Seth  had  been  unprepared  for  this  outburst.  It 
took  him  quite  aback,  and  he  felt  a  great  lump  rise 
in  his  throat  Unconsciously  he  almost  roughly  re- 
leased his  hand.  But  the  next  moment  it  was  laid 
tenderly  upon  the  bowed  head. 

"  Git  up,  little  gal,"  he  said.  And  there  was  a 
world  of  tenderness  in  his  voice.  His  effort  at  self- 
restraint  was  great,  but  his  feelings  found  a  certain 
amount  of  expression  in  spite  of  him,  for  he  was 
stirred  to  the  depths  of  his  loyal  heart.  He  was  face 
to  face  with  a  scene  such  as  he  had  never  even 
pictured.  His  sense  of  duty  was  powerless  just  then 
before  his  deep,  strong  love  for  the  girl.  "  Little 
Rosebud,"  he  went  on,  and  he  struggled  hard  to 
make  his  words  rough,  "  ther's  things  to  do.  Go 
right  back  to  Ma  an'  help  her.  I  must  go  out  to 
Rube.     He's  doin'  all  the  work,  an'  so  is  she.'' 

The  girl  made  no  move  to  rise.  Her  sobs  were 
heart-breaking.  Seth  turned  sharply  and  left  her 
where  she  was.  He  simply  dared  not  stay  there 
another  moment. 

Outside  General  was  lying  a  few  yards  away  from 
the  house,  crouched  alertly,  and  gazing  out  prairie- 
wards.     He  called  the  dog  to  him. 

*'  Injuns,  boy,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone.  •'  S-seek 
em  . 

The  dog  responded  with  a  low  growl,  and  then 


THE  LETTER  FROM  ENGLAND  177 

moved  off  out  into  the  darkness,  with  the  prowling 
gait  of  a  puma  stalking  its  prey. 

"  He'll  keep  us  posted,"  Seth  observ'ed  quietly  to 
Rube. 

"  You  kind  o'  understan'  him." 

"  He  understands  Injuns,"  the  dog's  master  re- 
turned significantly.  No  more  was  said  for  a  while, 
and  the  two  men  peered  out  into  the  darkness  with 
eyes  trained  to  such  watchfulness. 

"  'Bout  them  tents  ?  "  said  Rube  later  on. 

♦'  They're  the  troops.  The  postmaster  told  me 
they  were  comin'  hard." 

"  Kind  o'  handy." 

It  was  very  dark.  The  moon  had  not  yet  risen 
Presently  Seth  fetched  a  chair.  The  older  man 
watched  him  seat  himself  a  little  wearily. 

•'  Hurt  some  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Jest  a  notion,"  Seth  replied  in  his  briefest  man- 
ner. 

"  Say,  you  got  around  jest  in  time." 

"  Yup.  Wanaha  put  me  wise  after  I  left  here,  so 
I  came  that  aways.     Say,  this  is  jest  the  beginnin'." 

"You  think " 

**  Ther's  more  comin'.  Guess  the  troops  '11  check 
it  some.  But — say,  this  feller's  worse'n  his  father. 
Guess  he's  jest  feelin'  his  feet.  An'  he's  gettin'  ail  the 
Pine  Ridge  lot  with  him — I  located  that  as  I  came 
along." 

They  talked  on  for  some  time  longer,  in  their  slow, 
short    way    discussing  their  plans.     The  one  topic 


178       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

they  did  not  discuss  was  Rosebud.     They  tacidy  ig 
nored  her  share  in  the  evening's  work  Uke  men  who 
knew  that  certain  blame  must  attach  to  her  and  re- 
fused to  bestow  it. 

The  night  dragged  slowly  on.  Rube  wanted  Seth 
to  go  in  and  rest,  but  Seth  sat  in  his  chair  with  dogged 
persistence.     So  they  shared  the  vigil. 

Rube,  by  way  of  variation,  occasionally  visited  the 
stables  to  see  to  the  horses.  And  all  the  time  the  dog 
was  out  scouting  with  an  almost  human  intelligence. 
After  once  being  dispatched  he  did  not  appear 
again.  Seth  had  brought  him  up  to  this  Indian 
scouting,  and  the  beast's  natural  animosity  to  the  In- 
dians made  him  a  perfect  guard. 

The  moon  rose  at  midnight.  There  was  no  sign  of 
disturbance  on  the  Reservation.  All  was  quiet  and 
still.  But  then  these  men  knew  that  the  critical  time 
had  not  yet  arrived.  Dawn  would  be  the  danger. 
And  by  dawn  they  both  hoped  that  something  might 
result  from  Charlie  Rankin's  journey. 

Rube  was  sitting  in  a  chair  at  Seth's  side.  The 
clock  in  the  kitchen  had  just  cuckooed  three  times. 
The  old  man's  eyes  were  heavy  with  sleep,  but  he 
was  still  wide  awake.  Neither  had  spoken  for  some 
time.  Suddenly  Seth's  right  hand  gripped  the  old 
man's  arm. 

"  Listen !  " 

There  was  a  faint,  uneasy  whine  far  out  on  the 
prairie.  Then  Seth's  straining  ears  caught  the  sound 
of  horses  galloping.     Rube  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  his 


THE  LETTER  FROM  ENGLAND  179 

hands  went  to  the  guns  at  his  waist.  But  Seth 
checked  him. 

"  Easy,"  he  said.  "  Guess  it  ain't  that.  General 
only  whined.     He  mostly  snarls  wicked  for  Injuns." 

They  listened  again.  And  soon  it  became  ap- 
parent that  those  approaching  were  coming  out  of 
the  north. 

"  Charlie's  located  'em."  Seth's  tone  was  quietly 
assuring,  and  old  Rube  sighed  his  relief. 

Then  the  dog  suddenly  reappeared.  He,  too, 
seemed  to  understand  that  friends  were  approach- 
ing. 

And  so  it  proved.  The  night  of  long  suspense 
was  over.  A  few  minutes  later  a  squad  of  United 
States  cavalry,  in  charge  of  a  dapper,  blue-coated 
lieutenant,  rode  up  to  the  farm.  And  when  they 
arrived  Seth  was  there  by  himself  to  receive  them. 

"  Rube  Sampson's  farm  ? "  inquired  the  lieuten- 
ant, as  he  swung  from  his  steaming  horse. 

"  Right."     Seth  shook  hands  with  the  man. 

"Trouble  over  there,"  observed  the  other,  indi- 
cating the  Reservation  with  a  nod  of  the  head. 

'*  Yup.  Come  right  in.  Guess  your  boys  had 
best  make  their  plugs  snug  in  the  barn.  Come 
right  in,  and  I'll  rouse  Ma." 

Those  last  two  hours  before  morning  were  the 
hardest  part  of  all  to  Rube  and  Seth,  for,  in  the  par- 
lor, they  had  to  detail  all  the  events  of  the  preceding 
dav  to  Lieutenant  Barrow  and  his  sergeant.  And 
neither  of  them  was  good  at  explaining. 


i8o      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Breakfast  was  partaken  of ;  after  which,  since  the 
soldiers  had  accepted  all  responsibility,  Ma  packed 
her  men-folk  off  to  bed.  Seth  had  not  seen  a  bed 
since  Friday  night,  and  this  was  Tuesday. 

The  neighborhood  of  the  farm,  and,  in  fact,  all 
along  the  north  side  of  the  river  presented  an  unusual 
sight  when  Seth  and  Rube  reappeared  at  noon. 
Two  regiments  of  United  States  cavalr}^  had  taken 
up  their  position  ready  for  any  emergency. 

The  midday  meal  was  a  little  late,  so  that  Seth's 
shoulder  might  be  properly  dressed.  And  when  at 
last  the  family  sat  down  to  it,  it  threatened  to  be 
more  than  usually  silent  All  were  weary,  and  the 
women  overwrought.  Ma  was  the  only  one  who 
made  any  attempt  to  rouse  the  drooping  spirits 
about  her.  The  men  knew  that  they  were  con- 
fronted with  no  ordinary  Indian  rising.  There  was 
something  far  more  threatening  to  them  personally. 

As  the  meal  dragged  on  Ma  abandoned  her  eflorts 
entirely,  and  a  long  silence  ensued.  Finally  Rube 
pushed  back  his  chair  and  rose  from  the  table. 
Then  it  was  that  Seth  spoke  for  the  first  time. 

He  looked  from  Rube  to  Ma.  He  was  trying  to 
look  unconcerned,  and  even  smiled. 

"  Say,"  he  observed,  "  guess  I  was  fergittin'  I 
got  a  bit  of  a  letter  from — England." 

Rube  dropped  back  into  his  chair,  and  his  eyes 
were  questioning.  Ma  was  staring  through  her 
spectacles  at  her  boy.  She,  too,  was  asking  a  mute 
question.     But  hers  was  merely  a  quiet  curiosity. 


THE  LETTER  FROM  ENGLAND  i8i 

while  Rube's,  slow  old  Rube's,  was  prompted  by 
Seth's  manner,  which,  instinctively,  he  knew  to  be  a 
false  one. 

Rosebud  was  patting  General's  head  as  he  sat  at 
her  side.  She  continued  her  caressing,  but  her  eyes, 
swift  and  eager  but  tenderly  grave,  watched  Seth  as 
he  drew  out  the  letter  from  his  pocket  and  smoothed 
it  upon  the  table.  There  was  just  the  slightest 
tremor  in  her  hand  as  it  rested  on  the  dog^s 
head. 

"  Yup,"  Seth  went  on,  with  a  great  assumption  ot 
unconcern  which  deceived  nobody.  "  It's  a  feller — 
jest  one  o'  them  law  fellers.  He's  comin'  right  along 
to  the  farm.  I  'low  he  must  be  nigh  here  now. 
He  was  goin'  to  git  here  Tuesday  the  i6th — that's 
to-day." 

He  was  intent  on  the  letter.  Nor  did  he  once 
raise  his  eyes  while  he  was  speaking.  Now  he 
turned  the  paper  as  though  in  search  of  some  detail 
of  interest. 

"  Ah,"  he  went  on.  "  Here  it  is.  Says  he's  hit  the 
trail  o'  some  gal  as  was  lost.  Guesses  he'd  like  to 
see — Rosebud,  an'  ask  a  few  questions." 

"Seth!" 

Ma  had  risen,  and  somehow  her  chair  overturned 
behind  her.  Her  exclamation  was  a  gasp.  Rube 
stared  ;  he  had  no  words  just  then.  Rosebud  con 
tinued  to  caress  the  dog,  who  whined  his  pleasure  at 
the  unusual  attention.  At  last  she  turned.  For  an 
instant  her  eyes  met  Seth's. 


1 82      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"May  I  read  that  letter,  Seth?"  she  asked 
quietly. 

"  Sure."  Seth  rose  from  the  table.  "  Rube,"  he 
said,  "I'd  take  it  friendly  if  you'd  fill  my  pipe." 
Then  he  moved  across  to  the  window. 

Rosebud  looked  up  from  reading  the  letter.  She 
came  round  to  him  and  handed  it  back. 

"  So  my  name's  Marjorie  Raynor  ?  "  she  said  with 
a  queer  smile. 

Seth  nodded. 

"  And  all  this  money  is  what  you  once  spoke 
about  ? " 

Again  came  Seth's  affirmation. 

"  And  how  long  have  you  known — that  I'm  not 
Rosebud  ?  " 

"  Got  that  bit  of  a  letter  Saturday." 

"  But  you  guessed  it  long  before  that — when  we 
were  out  at  the  slough  ?  " 

"  I'd  a  notion." 

The  girl  glanced  round..  Ma's  face  was  still  in  a 
condition  of  florid  perplexity.  Rube  was  quiedy 
whittling  a  match  with  his  tobacco  knife.  Rose- 
bud's eyes  were  very  soft  as  she  looked  from  one  to 
the  other. 

"And  I'm  to  go  away  from — here?"  she  said  at 
last,  and  her  lips  were  trembling. 

"  Guess  when  a  '  stray '  comes  along  we  mostly 
git  it  back  home." 

Seth  found  a  lot  to  interest  him  in  the  blank  wall 
of  the  barn  outside  the  window. 


THE  LETTER  FROM  ENGLAND  183 

"  But  it  seems  I'm  a  stray  without  a  home.  My 
father  and  mother  must  be  dead." 

"  Ther's  aunts  an'  things — an'  the  dollars." 

The  girl  also  surveyed  the  wall  of  the  barn. 

"  Yes,  I  forgot  the — dollars." 

Suddenly  she  turned  away.  Just  for  a  moment 
she  seemed  in  some  doubt  of  her  own  purpose. 
Then  she  walked  over  to  Ma  and  put  her  arms 
about  her  neck  and  kissed  her.  Then  she  passed 
round  to  Rube  and  did  the  same.  Finally  she 
opened  the  door,  and  stood  for  a  second  looking  at 
Seth's  slim  back. 

•'  Farewell,  friends.  The  heiress  must  prepare  for 
her  departure." 

There  was  something  harsh  and  hysterical  about 
the  laugh  which  accompanied  her  mocking  farewell, 
but  she  was  gone  the  next  instant,  and  the  door 
slammed  behind  her. 

Ma  stepped  up  to  her  boy,  and  forgetful  of  his 
wounded  shoulder  rested  her  hand  upon  it.  Seth 
flinched  and  drew  away  ;  and  the  old  w^oman  was 
all  sympathy  at  once. 

"  I'm  real  sorry,  boy,  I  kind  o'  forgot" 

"  It's  nothin',  Ma ;  it  jest  hurts  some." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SETH'S   DUTY  ACCOMPLISHED 

"It's  a  great  country.  It  astonishes  me  at  every 
turn,  madam  ;  but  it's  too  stirring  for  me.  One  gets 
used  to  things,  I  know,  but  this,"  with  a  wave  of  the 
arm  in  the  direction  of  the  Reservations,  "  these  hair- 
raising  Indians !  Bless  me,  and  you  live  so  close  to 
them  ! " 

The  crisp-faced,  gray-headed  little  lawyer  smiled  in 
a  sharp,  angular  manner  in  Ma  Sampson's  directioa 
The  farm-wife,  arrayed  in  her  best  mission-going 
clothes,  was  ensconced  in  her  husband's  large  parlor 
chair,  which  was  sizes  too  big  for  her,  and  smiled 
back  at  him  through  her  glasses. 

Mr.  Charles  Irvine,  the  junior  partner  of  the  firm 
of  solicitors,  Rodgers,  Son,  and  Irvine,  of  London, 
had  made  his  final  statement  with  regard  to  Rose- 
bud, and  had  now  given  himself  up  to  leisure. 

There  had  been  no  difficulty.  Seth's  letter  had 
stated  all  the  facts  of  which  he  had  command.  It 
had  been  handed  on  to  these  solicitors.  And  what 
he  had  told  them  had  been  sufficient  to  bring  one  of 
the  partners  out  to  investigate.  Nor  had  it  taken 
this  practical  student  of  human  nature  long  to  realize 
the  honesty  of  these  folk,  just  as  it  had  needed  but 
one  glance  of  comparison  between  Rosebud  and  the 


SETH'S  DUTY  ACCOMPLISHED  185 

portrait  of  Marjorie  Raynor,  taken  a  few  weeks  be- 
fore her  disappearance,  and  which  he  had  brought 
with  him,  to  do  the  rest.  The  Hkeness  was  magical. 
The  girl  had  scarcely  changed  at  all,  and  it  was  dif- 
ficult to  believe  that  six  years  had  elapsed  since  the 
taking  of  that  portrait.  After  a  long  discussion  with 
Seth  the  lawyer  made  his  final  statement  to  the  as- 
sembled family. 

"You  quite  understand  that  this  case  must  go 
through  the  courts,"  he  said  gravely.  "There  is 
considerable  property  involved.  For  you,  young 
lady,  a  long  and  tedious  process.  However,  the 
matter  will  be  easier  than  if  there  were  others  fight- 
ing for  the  estate.  There  are  no  others,  because  the 
will  is  entirely  in  your  favor,  in  case  of  your  moth- 
er's death.  You  have  some  cousins,  and  an  aunt  or 
two,  all  prepared  to  welcome  you  cordially  ;  they  are 
in  no  way  your  opponents ;  they  will  be  useful  in  the 
matter  of  identification.  The  only  other  relative  is 
this  lost  uncle.  In  taking  you  back  to  England  I 
assume  sole  responsibility.  I  am  convinced  myself, 
therefore  I  unhesitatingly  undertake  to  escort  you, 
and,  if  you  care  to  accept  our  hospitality,  will  hand 
you  over  to  the  charge  of  Mrs.  Irvine  and  my 
daughters  And  should  the  case  go  against  you,  a 
contingency  which  I  do  not  anticipate  for  one  mo- 
ment, I  will  see  that  you  return  to  your  happy  home 
here  in  perfect  safety.  I  hope  I  state  my  case  clearly, 
Mr.  Sampson,  and  you,  Mr.  Seth.  I,"  and  the  little 
man  tapped  the  bosom  of  his  shirt.  *'  will  personallv 


i86      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

guarantee  Miss — er — Marjorie  Raynor's  safety  and 
comfort." 

Mr.  Irvine  beamed  in  his  angular  fashion  upon 
Rosebud,  in  a  way  that  emphatically  ^aid,  "There, 
by  that  I  acknowledge  your  identity 

But  this  man  who  felt  sure,  that,  at  inuch  discom- 
fort to  himseit,  he  was  bringing  joy  into  a  poor 
household,  was  grievously  disappointed,  for  one  and 
all  received  his  assurances  as  though  each  were  a 
matter  for  grief.  Seth  remained  silent,  and  Rube 
had  no  comment  to  offer.  Rosebud  forgot  even  to 
thank  him. 

Ma  alone  rose  to  the  occasion,  and  she  only  by  a 
great  effort.  But  when  the  rest  had,  on  various  pre- 
texts, drifted  out  of  the  parlor,  she  "managed  to  give 
the  man  of  law  a  better  understanding  of  things. 
She  gave  him  an  insight  into  their  home-life,  and 
hinted  at  the  grief  this  parting  would  be  to  them  all, 
even  to  Rosebud.  And  he,  keen  man  of  business 
that  he  was,  encouraged  her  to  talk  until  she  had  told 
him  all,  even  down  to  the  previous  night's  work  on 
the  banks  of  the  White  River.  Like  many  women 
who  trust  rather  to  the  heart  than  to  the  head,  Ma 
had  thus  done  for  Rosebud  what  no  purely  business 
procedure  could  have  done.  She  had  enlisted  this 
cool-headed  but  kindly  lawyer's  sympathies.  And 
that  goes  far  when  a  verdict  has  to  be  obtained. 

In  response  to  the  lawyer's  horrified  realization  of 
the  dangerous  adjacency  of  the  Reservations,  Ma 
Jaughed  in  her  gentle,  assured  manner. 


SETH'S  DUTY  ACCOMPLISHED  187 

**  Maybe  it  seems  queer  to  you,  Mr.  Irvine,  but  it 
isn't  to  us.  We  are  used  to  it.  As  my  Rube  always 
says,  says  he,  '  When  our  time  comes  ther'  ain't  no 
kickin'  goin'  to  be  done.  Meanwhiles  we'll  keep  a 
smart  eye,  an'  ther's  alius  someun  lookin'  on  to  see 
fair  play.'  " 

The  old  woman's  reply  gave  this  man,  who  had 
never  before  visited  any  place  wilder  than  a  European 
capital,  food  for  reflection.  This  was  his  first  glimpse 
of  pioneer  life,  and  he  warmed  toward  the  spirit,  the 
fortitude  which  actuated  these  people.  But  he  made 
a  mental  resolve  that  the  sooner  Miss  Raynor  was 
removed  from  the  danger  zone  the  better. 

There  was  little  work  done  on  the  farm  that  day. 
When  Seth  had  finished  with  the  lawyer  he  abruptly 
took  himself  away  and  spent  most  of  the  day  among 
the  troops.  For  one  thing,  he  could  not  stay  in  the 
home  which  was  so  soon  to  lose  Rosebud.  It  was 
one  matter  for  him  to  carry  out  the  duty  he  conceived 
to  be  his,  and  another  to  stand  by  and  receive  in 
silence  the  self-inflicted  chastisement  it  brought  with 
it.  So,  with  that  quiet  spirit  of  activity  which  was 
his  by  nature,  and  which  served  him  well  now,  he 
took  his  share  in  the  work  of  the  troops,  for  which 
his  knowledge  and  experience  so  fitted  him.  The 
most  experienced  officers  were  readv  to  listen  to  him, 
for  Seth  was  as  well  known  in  those  disturbed  regions 
as  any  of  the  more  popular  scouts  who  have  found 
their  names  heading  columns  in  the  American  daily 
press. 


i88       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

After  supper  he  and  Rube  devoted  themselves  to 
the  chores  of  the  farm,  and  it  was  while  he  was  oc- 
cupied in  the  barn,  and  Rube  was  attending  to  the 
milch  cows  in  another  building,  that  he  received  an 
unexpected  visit.  He  was  working  slowly,  his 
wounded  shoulder  handicapping  him  sorely,  for  he 
found  difficulty  in  bedding  down  the  horses  with 
only  one  available  hand.  Hearing  a  light  footstep 
coming  down  the  passage  between  the  double  row 
of  stalls,  he  purposely  continued  his  w^ork. 

Rosebud,  for  it  was  she,  paused  at  the  foot  of  the 
stall  in  which  he  was  working.  He  glanced  round 
and  greeted  her  casually.  The  girl  stood  there  a 
second,  then  she  turned  away,  and,  procuring  a 
,  fork,  proceeded  to  bed  down  the  stall  next  to 
him. 

Seth  protested  at  once.  Rosebud  had  never  been 
allowed  to  do  anything  like  this.  His  objection 
came  almost  roughly,  but  the  girl  ignored  it  and 
went  on  working, 

"  Say,  gal,  quit  right  there,"  he  said,  in  an  author! 
tative  manner. 

Rosebud  laughed.  But  the  old  spirit  was  nc 
longer  the  same.  The  light-hearted  mirth  had  gone. 
Indeed,  Rosebud  was  a  child  no  longer.  She  was  a 
woman,  and  it  would  have  surprised  these  folk  to 
know  how  serious-minded  the  last  two  days  had 
made  her. 

"  Even  a  prisoner  going  to  be  hanged  is  allowed 
to  amuse  himself  as  he  pleases  during  his  last  hours. 


SETH'S  DUTY  ACCOMPLISHED  189 

Seth,"  she  responded,  pitching  out  the  bedding 
from  under  the  manger  with  wonderful  dexterity. 

Seth  flushed,  and  his  eyes  were  anxious.  No 
physical  danger  could  have  brought  such  an  ex- 
pression to  them.  It  was  almost  as  if  he  doubted 
whether  what  he  had  done  was  right.  It  was  the 
doubt  which  at  times  assails  the  strongest,  the  most 
decided.  He  seemed  to  be  seeking  a  suitable  re- 
sponse, but  his  habit  of  silence  handicapped  him. 
At  last  he  said  — 

"  But  he's  goin'  to  be  hanged." 

"  And  so  am  I."  Rosebud  fired  her  retort  with 
all  the  force  of  her  suppressed  passion.  Then  she 
laughed  again  in  that  hollow  fashion,  and  the  straw 
flew  from  her  fork.  "  At  least  I  am  going  out  of 
the  world — my  world,  the  world  I  love,  the  only 
world  I  know.     And  for  what?" 

Seth  labored  steadily.  His  tongue  was  terribly 
slow. 

"  Ther's  your  friends,  and — the  dollars." 

"  Friends — dollars?"  she  replied  scornfully,  while 
the  horse  she  was  bedding  moved  fearfully  away 
from  her  fork.  "  You  are  always  thinking  of  my 
dollars.  What  do  I  want  with  dollars  ?  And  I  am 
not  going  to  friends.  I  have  no  father  and  mother 
but  Pa  and  Ma.  I  have  no  friends  but  those  who 
have  cared  for  me  these  last  six  years.  Why  has 
this  little  man  come  out  here  to  disturb  me  ?  Be- 
cause he  knows  that  if  the  dollars  are  mine  he  will 
make  money  out  of  me.     He  knows  that,  and  ^or  a 


I90      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

consideration  he  will  be  my  friend.  Oh,  1  hate  him 
and  the  dollars  !  " 

The  tide  of  the  girl's  passion  overwhelmed  Seth, 
and  he  hardly  knew  what  to  say.  He  passed  into 
another  stall  and  Rosebud  did  the  same.  The  man 
was  beginning  to  realize  the  unsuspected  depths  of 
this  girl's  character,  and  that,  perhaps,  after  all,  there 
might  have  been  another  mode  of  treatment  than  his 
line  of  duty  as  he  had  conceived  it.  He  found  an 
answer  at  last. 

"  Say,    if   I'd   located   this   thing   and   had  done 

nothin' "  he  began.     And  she  caught  him  up  at 

once. 

"  I'd  have  thanked  you,"  she  said. 

But  Seth  saw  the  unreasonableness  of  her 
reply. 

"  Now,  Rosebud,"  he  said  gently,  "you're  talkin' 
foolish.  An'  you  know  it.  What  I  did  was  only 
right  by  you.  I'd  'a'  been  a  skunk  to  have  acted 
different.  I  lit  on  the  trail  o'  your  folk,  don't 
matter  how,  an'  I  had  to  see  you  righted,  come 
what  might.  Now  it's  done.  An'  I  don't  see  wher' 
the  hangin'  comes  in.  Guess  you  ken  come  an'  see 
Ma  later,  when  things  get  quiet  agin.  I  don't  take 
it  she  hates  you  a  heap." 

He  spoke  almost  cheerfully,  trying  hard  to  dis- 
guise what  he  really  felt.  He  knew  that  with  this 
girl's  going  all  the  light  would  pass  out  of  his  life. 
He  dared  not  speak  in  any  other  way  or  his  resolve 
would  melt  before  the  tide  of  feeling  which  he  was 


SETH'S  DUTY  ACCOMPLISHED  191 

struggling  to  repress.  He  would  have  given  some- 
thing to  find  excuse  to  leave  the  barn,  but  he  made 
no  effort  to  do  so. 

When  Rosebud  answered  him  her  manner  had 
changed.  Seth  thought  that  it  was  due  to  the  rea- 
sonableness of  his  own  arguments,  but  then  his 
knowledge  of  women  was  trifling.  The  girl  had 
read  something  underlying  the  man's  words  which 
he  had  not  intended  to  be  there,  and  had  no  knowl- 
edge of  having  expressed.  Where  a  woman's  affec- 
tions are  concerned  a  man  is  a  simple  study,  espe- 
cially if  he  permits  himself  to  enter  into  debate.  Seth's 
strength  at  all  times  lay  in  his  silence.  He  was  toe 
honest  for  his  speech  not  to  betray  him. 

"Yes,  I  know,  Seth,  you  are  right  and  I  am 
wrong,"  she  said,  and  her  tone  was  half  laughing 
and  half  crying,  and  wholly  penitent.  "  That's  just 
it,  I  am  always  wrong.  I  have  done  nothing  but 
bring  you  trouble.  I  am  no  help  to  you  at  all.  Even 
this  fresh  trouble  with  the  Indians  is  my  doing. 
And  none  of  you  ever  blame  me.  And — and  I  don't 
want  to  go  away.  Oh,  Seth,  you  don't  know 
how  I  want  to  stay  !  And  you're  packing  me  off 
like  a  naughty  child.  I  am  not  even  asked  if  I  want 
to  go."  She  finished  up  with  that  quick  change  to 
resentment  so  characteristic  of  her. 

The  touch  of  resentment  saved  Seth.  He  found  it 
possible  to  answer  her,  which  he  did  with  an  as- 
sumption of  calmness  he  in  no  way  felt.  It  was  a 
pathetic  little  face  that  looked  up  into  his.     The  girl's 


192       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

anger  had  brought  a  flush  to  her  cheeks,  but  hei 
beautiful  eyes  were  as  tearful  as  an  April  sky. 

"  Guess  we've  all  got  to  do  a  heap  o'  things  we 
don't  like,  Rosie  ;  a  mighty  big  heap.  An'  seems 
to  me  the  less  we  like  'em  the  more  sure  it  is  they're 
right  for  us  to  do.     Some  folks  calls  it  *  duty.' 

"  And  you  think  it's  my  duty  to  go  ?'' 

Seth  nodded. 

*'  My  duty,  the  same  as  it  was  your  duty  alvtays 
to  help  me  out  when  I  got  into  some  scrape  ?  " 

Without  a  thought  Seth  nodded  again,  and  was  at 
once  answered  by  that  hollow  little  laugh  which  he 
found  so  jarring. 

"  I  hate  duty  !  But,  since  I  have  had  your  splendid 
example  before  me  for  six  years,  it  has  forced  on  me 
the  necessity  of  trying  to  be  like  you."  The  girl's 
sarcasm  was  harsh,  but  Seth  ignored  it. 

As  she  went  on  her  mood  changed  again.  "  I 
was  thinking  while  that  old  man  was  talking  so 
much,"  she  said  slowly,  "  how  I  shall  miss  Pa,  and 
Ma,  and  old  General.  And  I  can't  bear  the  idea  of 
leaving  even  the  horses  and  catde,  and  the  grain 
fields.  I  don't  know  whatever  the  little  papooses  at 
the  Mission  will  do  without  me.  I  wonder  if  all  the 
people  who  do  their  duty  feel  like  that  about  things? 
They  can't  really,  or  they  wouldn't  want  to  do  it, 
and  would  just  be  natural  and — and  human  some- 
times. Think  of  it,  Seth,  I'm  going  to  leave  all  this 
beautiful  sunshine  for  the  fog  of  London  just  for  the 
sake  of  duty.     I  begin  to  feel  quite  good.     Then, 


SETH'S  DUTY  ACCOMPLISHED  193 

\ou  see,  when  I'm  rich  I  shall  have  so  much  to  do 
with  my  money — so  many  duties — that  I  shall  have 
no  time  to  think  of  White  River  Farm  at  all.  And 
it  1  do  happen  to  squeeze  in  a  thought,  perhaps  just 
before  I  go  to  sleep  at  night,  it'll  be  such  a  comfort 
to  think  everybody  here  is  doing  their  duty.  You 
see  nothing  else  matters,  does  it  ?  " 

Seth  took  refuge  in  silence.  The  girl's  words 
pained  him,  but  he  knew  that  it  was  only  her  grief 
at  leaving,  and  he  told  himself  that  her  bitterness 
would  soon  pass.  The  pleasure  of  traveling,  of  see- 
ing new  places,  the  excitement  of  her  new  position 
would  change  all  that.  Receiving  no  reply  Rosebud 
went  on,  and  her  bitterness  merged  into  an  assumed 
brightness  which  quite  deceived  her  companion. 

"  Yes,"  she  continued,  "  after  all  it  won't  be  so 
dreadful,  will  it  ?  I  can  buy  lots  of  nice  things,  and 
I  shall  have  servants.  And  I  can  go  all  over  the 
world.  No  more  washing  up.  And  there'll  be 
parties  and  dances.  And  Mr.  Irvine  said  something 
about  estates.  I  suppose  I'll  have  a  country  house 
— like  people  in  books.  Yes,  and  I'll  marry  some 
one  with  a  title,  and  wear  diamonds  Do  you 
think  somebody  with  a  title  would  marry  me, 
Seth  ? " 

"  Maybe,  if  you  asked  him." 

"Oh!" 

"Wal,  you  see  it's  only  fine  ladies  gits  asked  by 
fellers  as  has  titles." 

The  dense  Seth  felt  easier  in  his  mind  at  the  girl's 


194      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

tone,  and  in  his  clumsy  fashion  was  trying  to  join  in 
the  spirit  of  the  thing. 

"  Thank  you,  I'll  not  ask  any  one  to  marry  me." 

Seth  realized  his  mistake. 

"  Course  not.     I  was  jest  foolin'." 

"  I  know."  Rosebud  was  smiling,  and  a  dash  of 
mischief  was  in  her  eyes  as  she  went  on  — 

"  It  would  be  awful  if  a  girl  had  to  ask  some  one 
to  marry  her,  wouldn't  it  ?  " 

"  Sure." 

Seth  moved  out  into  the  passage  ;  the  last  horse 
was  bedded  down,  and  they  stood  together  leaning 
on  their  forks. 

'•  The  man  would  be  a  silly,  w^ouldn't  he  ?  " 

"  A  reg'lar  hobo." 

"  What's  a  *  hobo,'  Seth  ?  " 

"Why,  jest  a  feller  who  ain't  got  no  'savee'  " 

"  '  Savee  *  means  '  sense,'  doesn't  it?  "  Rosebud's 
eyes  were  innocendy  inquiring,  and  they  gazed 
blandly  up  into  the  man's  face. 

"  Wal,  not  exac'ly.  It's  when  a  feller  don't  git  a 
notion  right,  an'  musses  things  up  some."  They 
were  walking  toward  the  bam  door  now.  Seth  was 
about  to  go  up  to  the  loft  to  throw  down  hay 
"  Same  as  when  I  got  seein'  after  the  Injuns  when  I 
ought  to've  stayed  right  here  an'  seen  you  didn't  go 
sneakin'  off  by  y'self  down  by  the  river,"  he  added 
slyly,  with  one  of  his  rare  smiles. 

The  girl  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands 

"  Oh,  Seth  !  "  she  cried,  as  she  moved  out  to  re 


SETH'S  DUTY  ACCOMPLISHED  193 

turn  to  the  house,  "then  you're  a  regular  '  hobo.' 
What  a  joke!" 

And  she  ran  off,  leaving  the  man  mystified. 

Rosebud  and  the  lawyer  left  the  following  morn- 
ing. Never  had  such  good  fortune  caused  so  much 
grief.  It  was  a  tearful  parting ;  Ma  and  Rosebud 
wept  copiously,  and  Rube,  too,  was  visibly  affected. 
Seth  avoided  everybody  as  much  as  possible.  He 
drove  the  conveyance  into  Beacon  Crossing,  but,  as 
they  were  using  the  lawyer's  hired  "  democrat,"  he 
occupied  the  driving-seat  with  the  man  who  had 
brought  the  lawyer  out  to  the  farm.  Thus  it  was 
he  spoke  little  to  Rosebud  on  the  journey. 

Later,  at  the  depot,  he  found  many  things  to  oc- 
cupy him  and  only  time  to  say  "  good-bye  "  at  the 
last  moment,  with  the  lawyer  looking  on. 

The  girl  was  on  the  platform  at  the  end  of  the 
sleeping-car  when  Seth  stepped  up  to  make  his  fare- 
well. 

**  Good-bye,  little  Rosebud,"  he  said,  in  his  quiet, 
slow  manner.  His  eyes  were  wonderfully  soft. 
"  Maybe  you'll  write  some  ?  " 

The  girl  nodded.  Her  violet  eyes  were  suspi- 
ciously bright  as  she  looked  frankly  up  into  his  face. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  both  be  happy.  We've  done 
cur  duty,  haven't  we  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  wistful 
little  smile. 

"  Sure,"  replied  Seth,  with  an  ineffective  attempt 
Ai  lightness. 

The  girl    still  held  his  hand  and  almost  impercep- 


196      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

tibly  drew  nearer  to  him.  Her  face  was  lifted  to  him 
in  a  manner  that  few  would  have  mistaken.  But 
Seth  gendy  withdrew  his  hand,  and,  as  the  train  be- 
gan to  move,  climbed  down  and  dropped  upon  the 
low  platform. 

Rosebud  turned  away  with  a  laugh,  though  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  waved  a  handkerchief, 
and  Seth's  tall,  slim  figure  was  the  last  she  beheld  of 
Beacon  Crossing.  And  when  the  train  was  suffi- 
ciently far  away  she  kissed  her  hand  in  the  direction 
of  the  solitary  figure  still  doing  sentry  at  the  extrem- 
ity of  the  platform.  Then  she  went  into  the  car  and 
gave  full  vent  to  the  tears  she  had  struggled  so  long 
to  repress. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SETH   PLAYS   A   STRONG   HAND 

It  would  seem  that  the  Agent's  prompt  action  in 
summoning  the  aid  of  the  troops  had  averted  disaster. 
No  trouble  followed  immediately  on  Seth's  drastic 
treatment  of  Little  Black  Fox,  and  the  majority  of 
the  settlers  put  this  result  down  to  the  fact  of  the  over- 
awing efTect  of  the  cavalry.  One  or  two  held  dif- 
ferent opinions,  and  amongst  these  were  the  men  of 
White  River  Farm.  They  were  inclined  to  the  be- 
lief that  the  wounding  of  the  chief  was  the  sole  reason 
that  the  people  remained  quiet.  Anyway,  not  a  shot 
was  fired,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  entire  white 
population,  and,  after  two  weeks  had  passed,  by 
slow  degrees,  a  large  proportion  of  the  troops  were 
withdrawn. 

Then  followed  a  government  inquiry,  at  which  Seth 
was  the  principal  witness.  It  was  a  mere  formality 
by  which  the  affair  was  relegated  to  the  history  of 
the  State.  The  government  knew  better  than  to 
punish  the  chief.  After  all,  Little  Black  Fox  was  a 
king  of  his  race,  and,  however  much  it  might  desire 
to  be  rid  of  the  turbulent  Sioux,  it  would  be  a  dan- 
gerous thing  to  act  with  a  high  hand. 

But  the  matter  served  as  an  excuse  for  one  of  those 
mistakes  which  so  often   have  a  far-reaching  efTect 


198      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

There  was  an  old  fort  close  by  the  Pine  Ridge  Res- 
ervation, one  of  those  ancient  structures  erected  by 
old-time  traders.  It  had  long  been  untenanted,  and 
had  fallen  into  decay»  The  authorities  decided  to 
make  it  habitable,  and  turn  it  into  a  small  military 
post,  garrisoning  it  with  a  detachment  of  about  one 
hundred  cavalry. 

It  was  a  mistake.  And  every  white  man  of  ex- 
perience in  the  district  knew  that  it  was  so.  Even 
the  Agents  of  the  two  Reservations  sounded  a  warn- 
ing note.  It  is  fatal  to  attempt  to  bluff  the  Indian. 
Bluff  and  back  the  bluff.  But  a  handful  of  cavalry 
is  no  backing  to  any  bluff.  The  older  settlers  shook 
their  heads  ;  the  more  timorous  dared  to  hope  ;  even 
old  Roiheim,  who  would  make  profit  by  the  adja- 
cency of  soldiers,  would  willingly  have  foregone  the 
extra  trade.  Rube  and  Seth  offered  no  comment 
outside  their  own  house  ;  but  their  opinion  was  worth 
considering. 

"  It  won't  hurt  a  heap  this  side  of  Christmas," 
Rube  said,  on  learning  the  decision. 

And  Seth  pointed  his  remark. 

"No,  not  now,  I  guess.  Mebbe  spring  *11  see 
things." 

These  two  had  struck  at  the  heart  of  the  thing. 
It  was  late  summer,  and  history  has  long  since  proved 
that  Indians  never  go  out  on  the  war-path  with  winter 
coming  on.  Besides,  Little  Black  Fox  was  not  likely 
to  be  well  of  his  wound  for  months. 

So    the    farmers   went   about   their  work   again. 


SETH  PLAYS  A  STRONG  HAND  199 

Rube  and  Seth  took  in  their  crops,  and  devoted  spare 
time  to  building  operations.  And  the  vlistrict  of 
White  River  continued  its  unobtrusive  prosperity. 

The  loss  of  Rosebud  was  no  small  matter  to  Ma 
Sampson's  little  household.  But  these  folk  were  far 
too  well  inured  to  the  hard  life  of  the  plains  to  voice 
their  troubles.  They  sometimes  spoke  of  her  over 
their  meals,  but  for  the  most  part  bore  her  silently  in 
their  thoughts.  And  the  place  she  occupied  with 
them  was  surely  one  that  anybody  might  envy. 

For  Seth  all  the  brightness  of  the  last  six  years  had 
gone  out  of  his  life,  and  he  fell  back  on  the  almost 
stern  devotion,  which  had  always  been  his,  toward 
the  old  people  who  had  raised  him.  That,  and  the 
looking  forward  to  the  girl's  letters  from  England 
practically  made  up  his  life.  He  never  permitted 
himself  the  faintest  hope  that  he  would  see  her  again. 
He  had  no  thought  of  marriage  with  her.  If  nothing 
else  prevented,  her  fortune  was  an  impassable  barrier. 
Besides  he  knew  that  she  would  be  restored  to  that 
life — "  high-life,"  was  his  word — to  which  she  prop- 
erly belonged.  He  never  thought  or  hinted  to  him- 
self that  she  would  forget  them,  for  he  had  no  bitter- 
ness, and  was  much  too  loyal  to  think  of  her  otherwise 
chan  as  the  most  true-hearted  girl.  He  simply  be- 
lieved he  understood  social  distinctions  thoroughly. 

But  if  he  were  slow  in  matters  of  love,  it  was  his 
only  sloth.  In  action  he  was  swift  and  thorough, 
and  his  perception  in  all  matters  pertaining  to  the 
plainsman's  life  was  phenomenal. 


200      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

It  was  this  disposition  for  switt  action  which  sent 
him  one  day,  after  the  troops  had  withdrawn  to  their 
new  post,  and  the  plains  had  returned  to  their  usual 
pastoral  aspect,  in  search  of  Nevil  Steyne.  And  it 
was  significant  that  he  knew  just  when  and  where  to 
find  his  man. 

He  rode  into  a  clearing  in  the  woods  down  by  the 
river.  The  spot  was  about  a  mile  below  the  wagon 
bridge,  where  the  pines  grew  black  and  ragged — a 
touch  of  the  primordial  in  the  midst  of  a  younger 
growth.  It  was  noon  ;  a  time  when  the  plainsman 
knew  he  would  find  the  wood-cutter  at  leisure,  tak- 
ing his  midday  meal,  or  lazing  over  a  pipe.  Nor 
were  his  calculations  far  out. 

Nevil  was  stretched  full  length  beside  the  smoul- 
dering embers  on  which  his  cofTee  billytin  was  steam- 
ing out  fragrant  odors  that  blended  pleasantly 
with  the  resinous  fragrance  of  these  ancient  woods. 

He  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  horse's  hoofs,  and 
there  could  be  no  doubt  about  the  unfriendliness  of 
his  expression  when  he  recognized  his  visitor.  He 
dropped  back  again  into  his  lounging  attitude  at 
once,  and  his  action  was  itself  one  of  studied  dis- 
courtesy. 

Seth  did  not  appear  to  notice  anything.  He  sur- 
veyed the  clearing  with  a  certain  appreciation.  The 
vast  timbers  he  beheld  seemed  of  much  more  con- 
sequence to  him  than  the  man  who  lived  by  their 
destruction.  However,  he  rode  straight  over  to  the 
fire  and  dismounted. 


SETH  PLAYS  A  STRONG  HAND         20i 

"  Howdy  ?  "  he  said,  while  he  loosened  the  cinches 
of  his  saddle. 

"  What's  brought  you  around  ?  "  asked  Nevil,  un- 
graciously enough, 

Seth  turned  toward  the  trees  about  him. 

"  Pretty  tidy  patch,"  he  observed.  "  We're 
wantin'  big  timbers  up  at  the  farm.  Mebbe  you'd 
notion  a  contrac'  ?  " 

Nevil  had  noted  the  loosening  of  the  cinches.  He 
laughed  shortly. 

"  I'm  not  taking  contracts,  thanks.  But  I'll  sell 
you  wood  which  I  cut  at  my  pleasure." 

"  Cord- wood  ?  "  Seth  shook  his  head.  "  Guess 
we  want  timbers.  Kind  o'  buildin'  a  corral  around 
the  farm." 

"  Making  a  fort  of  it  ?  " 

Nevil's  blue  eyes  follow^ed  the  upward  curling 
wreath  of  smoke  which  dawdled  on  the  still  air 
above  the  fire. 

•'  Yup." 

"  Fancy  the  Injuns  are  on  the  racket?" 

"  Wal,  'tain't  w^hat  they're  doin'  now.  But  ther* 
ain't  no  tellin',  an'  we're  slack  since  the  harvest  I 
'lows  the  notion's  tol'ble.  Mebbe  they'll  be  quiet 
some — now  Rosebud's  gone." 

There  was  a  quiet  emphasis  on  Seth's  final  specu- 
lation. 

"  I  heard  she'd  gone  away  for  a  bit." 

Nevil  looked  searchingly  at  this  man  whom  he 
hated  above  all  men. 


202       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Gone  for  good,"  Seth  said,  with  an  admirable 
air  of  indifference. 

"How?" 

Nevil  suddenly  sat  up.  Seth  noted  the  fact 
without  even  glancing  in  his  direction. 

"  Wal,  y'  see  she's  got  folks  in  England.  And 
ther'  is  a  heap  o'  dollars ;  an  almighty  heap.  I 
reckon  she'd  be  a  millionairess  in  this  country. 
Guess  it  takes  a  mighty  heap  o'  bills  to  reckon  a 
million  in  your  country." 

This  expansiveness  was  so  unusual  in  the  man  of 
the  plains  that  Nevil  understood  at  once  he  had 
come  purposely  to  speak  of  Rosebud.  He  wondered 
why.  This  was  the  first  he  had  heard  of  Rosebud's 
good  fortune,  and  he  wished  to  know  more.  The 
matter  had  been  kept  from  everybody.  Even 
Wanaha  had  been  kept  in  ignorance  of  it. 

Seth  seated  himself  on  a  fallen  tree-trunk,  and 
now  looked  squarely  into  the  wood-cutter's  thin, 
mean  lace. 

'*  Y'  see  it's  kind  o'  curious.  I  got  that  gal  from 
the  Injuns  more'n  six  years  back,  as  you'll  likely  re- 
member. Her  folks,  her  father  an'  her  ma,  was 
killed  south  o'  the  Reservations.  Guess  they  were 
kind  o'  big  folk  in  your  country.  An'  ther  was  a 
feller  come  along  awhiles  back  all  the  way  from 
England  to  find  her.  He  was  a  swell  law  feller ; 
he'd  hit  her  trail,  an'  when  he  comes  along  he  said 
as  she  owned  'states  in  your  country,  a  whole  heap. 
Guess  she's  to  be  treated  like  a  queen.     Dollars  ? 


SETH  PLAYS  A  STRONG  HAND         203 

Gee !  She  ken  buy  most  everything.  I  'lows  they 
ken  do  it  slick  in  your  country." 

Seth  paused  to  light  his  pipe.  His  manner  was 
exquisitely  simple.  The  narration  of  the  story  of 
the  girl's  good  fortune  appeared  to  give  him  the 
keenest  pleasure.  Nevil  removed  his  pipe  from  his 
lips  and  sat  chewing  the  end  of  his  ragged  mous- 
tache. There  was  an  ugly  look  in  his  eyes  as  he 
contemplated  the  ashes  of  his  fire.  He  might  have 
been  staring  at  the  ashes  of  his  own  fortunes.  How- 
ever, he  contrived  a  faint  smile  when  he  spoke. 

"Then  I  s' pose  you've  found  out  her  real  name?" 

"  Sure.  Marjorie  Raynor.  Her  father  was  Colo- 
nel Landor  Raynor." 

"Ah." 

"  An'  ther'  ain't  no  question  o'  the  dollars.  She 
hain't  no  near  folk  'cep'  an  uncle,  Stephen  Raynor, 
an'  he  don't  figger  anyways,  *cause  the  dollars  are 
left  to  her  by  will.  He  only  comes  in,  the  lawyer 
feller  says,  if  the  gal  was  to  die,  or — or  get  killed." 

Seth  had  become  quite  reflective ;  he  seemed  to 
find  a  curious  pleasure  in  thus  discussing  the  girl  he 
loved  with  a  man  he  at  no  time  had  any  use  for. 

Nevil  stared  uneasily.  A  quick,  furtive  glance  at 
Seth,  who  at  that  moment  seemed  to  be  watching 
his  horse,  gave  an  inkling  of  his  passing  thought. 
If  a  look  could  kill  Seth  would  certainly  have  been  a 
dead  man. 

"So  the  whole  thing's  a  dead  cinch  for  her?" 

"  Yup.     Now." 


204      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Nevil  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  You  mean — that  matter  with  Little  Black  Fox 
But  she  brought  it  on  herself.     She  encouraged  him." 

Seth  was  round  on  him  in  a  twinkling. 

*'  Maybe  he  was  encouraged — but  not  by  her." 

"Who  then?" 

There  was  unmistakable  derision  in  the  wood- 
cutter's tone.  Seth  shrugged.  A  shadowy  smile 
played  round  his  lips,  but  his  eyes  were  quite 
serious. 

"  That's  it,"  he  said,  relapsing  into  his  reflective 
manner,  '*  the  whole  thing's  mighty  curious.  Them 
law  fellers  in  your  country  are  smartish.  They've 
located  a  deal.  Don't  jest  know  how.  They  figger 
that  uncle  feller  is  around  either  this  State  or  Minne- 
sota— likely  this  one,  seein'  the  Colonel  was  comin' 
this  aways  when  he  got  killed.  We  got  yarnin', 
an'  he  was  sayin'  he  thought  o'  huntin'  out  this  un- 
cle. I  guessed  ther'  wa'an't  much  need,  an'  it  might 
set  him  wantin'  the  dollars.  The  law  feller  said  he 
wouldn't  get  'em  anyhow — 'cep'  the  gal  was  dead. 
We  kind  o'  left  it  at  that.  Y'  see  the  whole  thing 
for  the  uncle  hung  around  that  gal — bein'  dead." 

"And  you  think  he  might  have  had  some- 
thing  "     Nevil's  words  came  slowly,  like  a  man 

who  realizes  the  danger  of  saying  too  much. 

"  Wal,  it  don't  seem  possible,  I  guess.  Them  two 
was  killed  by  the  Injuns,  sure.  An'  she — I  guess 
she  ain't  never  seen  him." 

A  slight  sigh  escaped  NeviL 


SETH  PLAYS  A  STRONG  HAND         205 

"That's  so,"  he  said  deliberately. 

*'  Howsum,  I  guess  I'm  goin'  to  look  around  for 
this  feller.  Y'  see  Rosebud's  li'ble  to  like  him. 
Mebbe  he  ain't  well  heeled  for  dollars,  an'  she's  that 
tender-hearted  she  might — I've  got  his  pictur*. 
Mebbe  I'll  show  it  around — eh,  what's  up?"  Seth 
inquired  in  his  blandest  tone. 

Nevil  suddenly  sat  up  and  there  was  a  desperate 
look  in  his  eyes.  But  he  controlled  himself,  and, 
with  an  effort,  spoke  indifferently. 

"  Nothing.     I  want  another  pipe." 

"  Ah."  Seth  fumbled  through  his  pockets,  talking 
the  while.  "  The  pictur'  was  took  when  he  was  most 
a  boy.  His  hair  was  thick  an'  he  hadn't  no  mous- 
tache nor  nothin',  which  kind  o'  makes  things  hard. 
As  I  was  say  in',  I'm  goin'  to  show  it  around  some, 
an'  maybe  some  one  '11  rec'nize  the  feller.  That's 
why  I  got  yarnin'  to  you.  Mebbe  you  ken  locate 
him." 

As  he  said  the  last  word  he  drew  a  photograph 
from  his  pocket  and  thrust  it  into  Nevil's  hand. 

The  wood-cutter  took  it  with  a  great  assumption 
of  indifference,  and  found  himself  looking  down  on  a 
result  of  early  photographic  art.  It  was  the  picture 
of  a  very  young  man  with  an  overshot  mouth  and  a 
thin,  narrow  face.  But,  as  Seth  had  said,  he  wore 
no  moustache,  and  his  hair  was  still  thick. 

Nevil  looked  long  at  that  picture,  and  once  or 
twice  he  licked  his  lips  as  though  they  were  very 
dry.     All  the  time  Seth's  steady  eyes  were  upon  his 


2o6       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

face,  and  the  shadow  of  a  smile  was  still  about  his 
lips. 

At  last  Nevil  looked  up  and  Seth's  eyes  held  his. 
For  a  moment  the  two  men  sat  thus.  Then  the 
wood-cutter  handed  back  the  photograph  and  shifted 
his  gaze. 

"  I've  never  seen  the  original  of  that  about  these 
parts,"  he  said  a  little  hoarsely. 

"  I  didn't  figger  you  had,"  Seth  replied^  rising  and 
proceeding  to  tighten  up  the  cinches  of  his  saddle 
preparatory  to  departing.  "  The  lawyer  feller  gave 
me  that.  Y'  see  it's  an  old  pictur'.  'Tain't  as  fancy 
as  they  do  'em  now      Mebbe  I'll  find  him  later  on." 

He  had  swung  into  his  saddle.  Nevil  had  also 
risen  as  though  to  proceed  wdth  his  work. 

"  It  might  be  a  good  thing  for  him,  since  Rosebud 
is  so  well  disposed,"  Nevil  laughed ;  he  had  almost 
recovered  himself. 

"That's  so,"  observed  Seth.  "Or  a  mighty  bad 
thing.  Y'  can't  never  tell  how  dollars  '11  fix  a  man. 
Dollars  has  a  heap  to  answer  for." 

And  with  this  vague  remark  the  plainsman  rode 
slowly  away 


CHAPTER  XX 

SETH   PAYS 

As  the  weeks  crept  by  and  the  torrid  heat  toned 
down  to  the  delightful  temperature  of  the  Indian 
summer,  news  began  to  reach  White  River  Farm 
from  England.  After  the  first  excitement  of  her  ar- 
rival had  worn  off,  Rosebud  settled  down  to  a  regu- 
lar correspondence. 

Even  her  return  to  the  scenes  of  her  childhood  in 
no  way  aided  her  memory.  It  was  all  new  to  her. 
As  her  letters  often  said,  though  she  knew  she  was 
grown  up,  yet,  as  far  as  memory  served  her,  she  was 
still  only  six  years  old.  Servants  who  had  nursed 
her  as  a  baby,  who  had  cared  for  her  as  a  child  of 
ten,  aunts  who  had  lavished  childish  presents  upon 
her,  cousins  who  had  played  with  her,  they  were  all 
strangers,  every  one. 

So  she  turned  with  her  confidences  to  those  she 
knew  ; — those  old  people  on  the  prairie  of  Dakota, 
and  that  man  who  had  been  everj^thing  to  her.  To 
these  she  wrote  by  every  mail,  giving  details  of  the 
progress  of  affairs,  telling  them  of  her  new  life,  of 
her  pleasures,  her  litde  worries,  never  forgetting  that 
Ma  and  Pa  were  still  her  mother  and  father. 

Thus  they  learned  that  the  lawyer's  prophecies  had 


2o8       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

been  fulfilled.  Rosebud  was  in  truth  her  father's 
heiress.  The  courts  were  satisfied,  and  she  was 
burdened  with  heritage  under  certain  conditions  of 
the  will.  These  conditions  she  did  not  state,  prob- 
ably a  girlish  oversight  in  the  rush  of  events  so 
swiftly  passing  round  her. 

The  winter  stole  upon  the  plains  ;  that  hard,  re- 
lentless winter  which  knows  no  yielding  till  spring 
drives  it  forth.  First  the  fierce  black  frosts,  then 
the  snow,  and  later  the  shrieking  blizzard,  battling, 
tearing  for  possession  of  the  field,  carrying  death  in 
its  breath  for  belated  man  and  beast,  and  sweeping 
the  snow  into  small  mountains  about  the  lonely 
prairie  dwellings  as  though,  in  its  bitter  fury  at  the 
presence  of  man,  it  would  bury  them  out  of  sight 
where  its  blast  proved  powerless  to  destroy  them. 
Christmas  and  New  Year  were  past,  that  time  of 
peace  and  festivity  which  is  kept  up  wherever  man 
sojourns,  be  it  in  city  or  on  the  plains. 

Through  these  dark  months  Seth  and  Rube 
worked  steadily  on  building  their  stockade,  hauling 
the  logs,  cutting,  splitdng,  joining.  The  weather 
made  no  difference  to  them.  The  fiercest  storm 
disturbed  them  no  further  than  to  cause  them  to 
bet  a  life-line  from  house  to  barn,  or  to  their  work, 
\vherever  tha.  might  be.  No  blizzard  could  drive 
them  within  doors  when  work  was  to  be  done.  This 
was  the  life  they  knew,  they  had  always  lived,  and 
thev  accepted  it  uncomplainingly,  just  as  they  ac- 
cepted the  fruits  of  the  earth  in  their  season. 


SETH  PAYS  2C9 

No  warning  sound  came  from  the  Indians.  The 
settlers  forgot  the  recent  episode,  forgot  the  past, 
which  is  the  way  of  human  nature,  and  lived  in  the 
present  only,  and  looked  forward  happily  to  the 
future. 

Seth  and  Rube  minded  their  own  affairs.  They 
were  never  the  ones  to  croak.  But  their  vigilance 
never  relaxed.  Seth  resumed  his  visits  to  the 
Reservation  as  unconcernedly  as  though  no  trouble 
had  ever  occurred.  He  went  on  with  his  Sunday 
work  at  the  Mission,  never  altering  his  tactics  by 
one  iota.  And  in  his  silent  way  he  learned  all  that 
interested  him. 

He  learned  of  Little  Black  Fox's  protracted  re- 
covery, his  lately  developed  moroseness.  He  knew 
whenever  a  council  of  chiefs  took  place,  and  much 
of  what  passed  on  these  occasions.  The  presence  of 
Nevil  Steyne  at  such  meetings  was  a  matter  which 
never  failed  to  interest  him.  He  was  rarely  seen  in 
the  company  of  the  Agent,  yet  a  quiet  understand- 
ing existed  between  them,  and  he  frequently  pos- 
sessed news  which  only  Parker  could  have  imparted. 

So  it  was  clearly  shown  that  whatever  the  general 
opinion  of  the  settlers,  Seth,  and  doubtless  Rube 
also,  had  cheir  own  ideas  on  the  calm  of  those 
winter  months,  and  lost  no  opportunity  of  verifying 
them. 

New  Year  found  the  ponderous  stockade  round 
the  farm  only  a  little  more  than  half  finished  in  spite 
of  the  greatest  efforts.     Rube  had  hoped  for  better 


210      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

results,  but  the  logs  had  been  slow  in  forthcoming. 
The  few  Indians  who  would  work  in  the  winter  had 
been  scarcer  this  year,  and,  in  spite  of  the  Agent, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  encourage  his  charges  in  ac- 
cepting and  carrying  out  remunerative  labor,  the 
work  had  been  very  slow. 

At  Rube's  suggestion  it  was  finally  decided  to 
seek  white  labor  in  Beacon  Crossing.  It  was  more 
expensive,  but  it  was  more  reliable.  When  once  the 
new  project  had  been  put  into  full  working  order  it 
was  decided  to  abandon  the  Indian  labor  altogether. 

With  this  object  in  view  Seth  went  across  to  the 
Reservation  to  consult  Parker.  He  was  met  by  the 
Agent's  sister.  Her  brother  was  out,  but  she  ex- 
pected him  home  to  dinner,  which  would  be  in  the 
course  of  half  an  hour. 

"  He  went  off  with  Jim  Crow,"  the  amiable  spinster 
told  her  visitor.  "  Went  off  this  morning  early. 
He  said  he  was  going  over  to  the  Pine  Ridge 
Agency.  But  he  took  Jim  Crow  with  him,  and 
hadn't  any  idea  of  going  until  the  scout  came." 

Seth  ensconsed  himself  in  an  armchair  and 
propped  his  feet  up  on  the  steel  bars  of  a  huge 
wood  stove. 

"  Ah,"  he  said  easily.  "  Guess  there's  a  deal  for 
him  to  do,  come  winter.  With  your  permission  I'll 
wait." 

Miss  Parker  was  all  cordiality.  No  man,  in  her 
somewhat  elderly  eyes,  was  more  welcome  than 
Seth.     The  Agent's  sister  had  once  been  heard  to 


SETH  PAYS  211 

Sciy,  if  there  was  a  man  to  be  compared  with  her 
brother  in  the  whole  country  it  was  Seth.  She  only 
wondered  he'd  escaped  being  married  out  of  hand 
bv  one  of  the  town  girls,  as  she  characterized  the 
women  of  Beacon  Crossing.  But  then  she  was  far 
more  prejudiced  in  favor  of  Seth  than  her  own  sex. 

"  He'll  be  glad,  Seth,"  she  said  at  once  ;  "  James  is 
always  partial  to  a  chat  with  you.  You  just  make 
yourself  comfortable  right  there.  I've  got  a  boil  of 
beef  and  dumplings  on,  which  1  know  you  like. 
You'll  stay  and  have  food  ?  " 

"  I  take  that  real  friendly,"  said  Seth,  smiling  up 
into  the  plain,  honest  face  before  him.  "  Guess  I'll 
have  a  pipe  and  a  warm  while  you're  fixin'  th'ngs.'' 

Somehow  Miss  Parker  found  herself  retiring  to 
her  kitchen  again  before  she  had  intended  it. 

During  the  next  half  hour  the  hostess  found  va- 
rious excuses  for  invading  the  parlor  where  Seth  was 
engaged  in  his  promised  occupation.  She  generally 
had  some  cheery,  inconsequent  remark  to  pass. 
Seth  gave  her  little  encouragement,  but  he  was  al- 
ways polite.  At  last  the  dinner  was  served,  and, 
sharp  to  time,  Jimmy  Parker  returned.  He  came  by 
himself,  and  blustered  into  the  warm  room  bringing 
with  him  that  brisk  atmosphere  of  the  outside  cold 
which,  in  winter,  always  makes  the  inside  of  a  house 
on  the  prairie  strike  one  as  a  perfect  haven  of  com- 
fort. He  greeted  Seth  cordially  as  he  shook  the  frost 
from  his  fur-coat  collar,  and  gently  released  his  mous- 
tache from  its  coating  of  ice. 


212      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Seth  deferred  his  business  until  after  dinner.  He 
never  liked  talking  business  before  womenfolk. 
And  Miss  Parker,  like  most  of  her  sex  in  the  district, 
was  likely  to  exaggerate  the  importance  of  any- 
chance  hint  about  the  Indians  dropped  in  her  pres- 
ence. So  the  boil  of  silverside  and  dumplings  was 
discussed  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  casual  conver- 
sation which  was  chiefly  carried  on  by  the  Agent's 
sister.  At  length  the  two  men  found  themselves 
alone,  and  their  understanding  of  each  other  was  ex- 
ampled  by  the  prompt  inquiry  of  Parker. 

"Well?"  he  questioned.  Seth  settled  himself  in 
his  chair  and,  from  force  of  habit,  spread  his  hands 
out  to  the  fire. 

*'  We're  finishing  our  job  with  white  labor,"  he 
said.  Then  as  an  afterthought,  "  Y'  see  we  want  to 
git  things  fixed  'fore  spring  opens." 

The  Agent  nodded. 

"Just  so,"  he  said. 

The  beads  on  his  moccasins  had  much  interest  for 
Seth  at  the  moment. 

"  I'd  never  gamble  a  pile  on  Injuns'  labor,"  he  re- 
marked indifferently.     Parker  laughed. 

"  No.     It  would  be  a  dead  loss — ^just  now." 

Seth  looked  round  inquiringly. 

*'  I  was  wondering  when  you  would  give  them  up," 
the  Agent  went  on.  "  I've  had  a  great  deal  of  diffi- 
culty keeping  them  at  it.  And  we're  liable,  I  think, 
to  have  more." 

The  last  was  said  very  gravely. 


SETH  PAYS  213 

"  Kind  o'  how  we've  figgered  right  along?"  Seth 
asked. 

'*  Yes." 

The  two  men  relapsed  into  silence  for  a  while,  and 
smoked  on.  At  last  Seth  spoke  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  has  just  finished  reviewing  matters  of  im- 
portance in  his  mind. 

"  We've  taken  in  the  well  in  fixin'  that  corral." 

"  Good.     We've  got  no  well  here." 

"  No." 

**  I  was  over  at  Pine  Ridge  to-day." 

"  That's  what  your  sister  said." 

*'  I  went  for  two  reasons.  Jim  Crow  has  smelt  out 
preparations  for  Sun-dances.  We  can't  locate  where 
they  are  going  to  be  held,  or  when.  I  went  over  to 
consult  Jackson,  and  also  to  see  how  he's  getting  on 
over  there.  He's  having  the  same  trouble  getting 
the  Indians  to  look  at  any  work.  Little  Black  Fox 
is  about  again.  Also  he  sees  a  heap  too  much  of 
that  white  familiar  of  his,  Nevil  Steyne.  By  Jove,  I 
wish  we  could  fix  something  on  that  man  and  get  the 
government  to  deport  him.  He's  got  a  great  sway 
over  the  chief.  What  the  devil  is  his  object  ? " 
Jimmy  Parker's  face  flushed  under  his  exasperation. 

"  I'd  give  a  heap  to  git  a  cinch  on  him,"  Seth  re- 
plied thoughtfully  "  He's  smart.  His  tracks  are 
covered  every  time.  Howsum,  if  things  git  doin' 
this  spring,  I've  a  notion  we'll  run  him  down  mebbe 
—later." 

The  Agent  was  all  interest 


214      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Have  you  discovered  anything?  " 

"  Wal — nothin'  that  counts  your  way.  It's  jest 
personal,  'tween  him  an'  me." 

The  other  laughed  cheerfully. 

"  Couldn't  be  better,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I'd  sooner 
it  depended  on  you  than  on  the  government." 

Seth  let  the  tribute  pass. 

"  We  must  locate  them  Sun-dances,"  he  said. 

"Yes.     We've  got  troops  enough  to  stop  them.'' 

"  Troops  ? — pshaw  1 " 

Seth  rose.  Parker  understood  his  last  remark. 
The  presence  of  troops  had  long  since  been  discussed 
between  them.  The  -isitor  moved  toward  the  door, 
and  the  Agent  went  1 1  his  desk.  At  the  door  Seth 
turned  as  some  thought  occurred  to  him. 

"  Guess  I'd  not  report  anything  yet.  Not  till  the 
Sun-dances  are  located.  I'll  git  around  some."  He 
slipped  into  his  fur  coat  and  turned  up  the  storm  col- 
lar. 

Parker  nodded. 

"  Keep  a  smart  eye  for  yourself,  Seth,"  he  said. 
*'  Litde  Black  Fox  isn't  likely  to  forget.  Especially 
with  Steyne  around," 

Seth  smiled  faintly. 

"  And  Steyne  '11  kind  o'  remember,  sure."  He 
passed  out  and  left  his  sturdy  friend  wondering. 

"  I'd  give  something  to  know,"  that  individual 
said  to  himself,  when  the  sound  of  horse's  hoofs  had 
died  out.  "  Seth's  dead  against  Steyne,  and  I'd  like 
to  bet  it's  over  Rosebud." 


SETH  PAYS  215 

The  object  of  the  Agent's  thoughts  passed  uncon- 
cernedly on  his  way.  He  branched  off  the  ford  trail 
intending  to  make  for  the  bridge,  below  which  his 
men  were  cutting  the  timbers  for  the  corral.  His 
way  was  remote  from  the  chief  encampment,  and  not 
a  single  Indian  showed  himself. 

The  skeleton  woods  that  lined  the  trail  gave  a 
desolate  air  to  the  bleak,  white  prospect.  The 
whole  of  that  northern  world  offered  little  promise  to 
the  traveler,  little  inducement  to  leave  the  warmth 
of  house  or  tepee. 

As  the  horseman  neared  the  bridge  he  paused  to 
listen.  Something  of  his  attitude  communicated 
itself  to  his  horse.  The  animal's  ears  were  laid  back, 
and  it  seemed  to  be  listening  to  some  sound  behind 
it.  Whatever  had  attracted  master  and  horse  must 
have  been  very  faint. 

A  moment  later  Seth  let  the  horse  walk  on  and  the 
animal  appeared  content.  But  if  the  animal  were  so, 
its  master  was  not.  He  turned  several  times  as  he 
approached  the  bridge,  and  scanned  the  crowding 
branches  on  each  side  of  the  snow-covered  trail  be- 
hind him. 

Seth  knew  that  he  was  followed.  More,  he  knew 
that  the  watcher  was  clumsy,  and  had  not  the  stealth 
of  the  Indian.  At  the  bridge  he  faced  about  and 
sat  waiting.  The  gravity  of  his  face  was  relieved  by 
a  slight  smile. 

Suddenly  the  crack  of  a  rifle  rang  out.  The 
horseman's  smile  died  abruptly.     His  horse  reared. 


2i6      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

pawing  the  air,  and  he  saw  blood  on  the  beast's 
shoulder.  He  saw  that  the  flesh  had  been  ripped  by 
a  glancing  bullet,  and  the  course  of  the  wound 
showed  him  whence  the  shot  had  come. 

He  looked  for  the  man  who  had  fired,  and,  as  he 
did  so,  another  shot  rang  out.  He  reeled  forward  in 
his  saddle,  but  straightened  up  almost  at  once,  and 
his  right  hand  flew  to  his  revolver,  while  he  tried  to 
swing  his  horse  about.  But  somehow  he  had  lost 
power,  and  the  horse  was  in  a  frenzy  of  terror.  The 
next  moment  the  beast  was  racing  across  the  bridge 
in  the  direction  of  home. 

The  journey  was  made  at  a  great  pace.  Seth  was 
sitting  bolt  upright.  His  face  was  ashen,  and  his 
eyelids  drooped  in  spite  of  his  best  efforts. 

Rube  was  in  the  region  of  the  kitchen  door  as  he 
galloped  up,  and  he  called  out  a  greeting. 

The  rider  began  to  reply.  But,  at  that  moment, 
the  horse  propped  and  halted,  and  the  reply  was 
never  finished.  Seth  rolled  out  of  the  saddle  and 
fell  to  the  ground  like  a  log. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

TWO   HEADS   IN  CONSPIRACY 

Seth  was  badly  hit ;  so  badly  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  say  how  long  he  might  be  confined  to  a  sick- 
room. His  left  shoulder-blade  had  been  broken 
by  the  bullet,  which,  striking  under  the  arm,  had 
glanced  round  his  ribs,  and  made  its  way  danger- 
ously adjacent  to  the  spine.  Its  path  was  marked 
by  a  shocking  furrow  of  lacerated  flesh.  Though 
neither  gave  expression  to  the  thought,  both  Ma  and 
Rube  marveled  at  the  escape  he  had  had,  and  even 
the  doctor  from  Beacon  Crossing,  accustomed  as  he 
was  to  such  matters,  found  food  for  grave  reflection 
on  the  ways  of  Providence. 

When  the  patient  recovered  consciousness  he 
maintained  an  impenetrable  silence  on  the  subject 
of  the  attack  made  upon  him.  Parker  and  Har- 
greaves  protested.  The  military  authorities  de- 
manded explanation  in  vain.  To  all  but  the  Agent 
Seth  vouchsafed  the  curtest  of  replies,  and  to  him  he 
made  only  a  slight  concession. 

"  Guess  this  is  my  racket,"  he  said,  with  just  a 
touch  of  invalid  peevishness.  "  Mebbe  I'll  see  it 
thro'  my  own  way — later." 

Ma  and   Rube   refrained  from   question.     It  was 


2i8       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

theirs  to  help,  and  they  knew  that  if  there  was  any- 
thing which  Seth  had  to  tell  he  would  tell  it  in  his 
own  time. 

But  time  passed  on,  and  no  explanation  was  forth- 
coming. Taking  their  meals  together  in  the  kitchen, 
or  passing  quiet  evenings  in  the  parlor  while  their 
patient  slept  up-stairs,  Ma  and  Rube  frequently  dis- 
cussed the  matter,  but  their  speculations  led  them 
nowhere.  Still,  as  the  sick  man  slowly  progressed 
toward  recovery,  they  were  satisfied.  It  was  all 
they  asked. 

Rube  accepted  the  burden  of  the  work  thus  thrust 
upon  him  in  cheerful  silence.  There  was  something 
horse-Uke  in  his  willingness  for  work.  He  just  put 
forth  a  double  exertion  without  one  single  thought 
of  self. 

Every  week  the  English  mail  brought  Ma  a  letter 
from  Rosebud,  and  ever  since  Seth  had  taken  up  his 
abode  in  the  sick-room  the  opening  and  reading  of 
these  long,  girlish  epistles  had. become  a  function  re- 
served for  his  entertainment.  It  was  a  brief  ray  of 
sunshine  in  the  gray  monotony  of  his  long  imprison- 
ment. On  these  occasions,  generally  Tuesdays,  the 
entire  evening  would  be  spent  with  the  invalid. 

They  were  happy,  single-hearted  little  gatherings. 
Ma  was  seated  at  the  bedside  in  a  great  armchair  be- 
fore a  table  on  which  the  letter  was  spread  out.  An 
additional  lamp  was  requisitioned  for  the  occasion, 
and  her  glasses  were  polished  until  they  shone  and 
gleamed  in  the  yellow  light.     Seth  was  propped  up, 


TWO  HEADS  IN  CONSPIRACY  219 

and  Rube,  large,  silent,  like  a  great  reflective  St 
Bernard  dog,  reclined  ponderously  at  the  foot  of  the 
wooden  bedstead.  The  reading  proceeded  with 
much  halting  and  many  corrections  and  rereadings, 
but  with  never  an  interruption  from  the  attentive 
audience. 

The  men  listened  to  the  frivolous,  inconsequent 
gossip  of  the  girl,  now  thousands  of  miles  away 
from  them,  with  a  seriousness,  a  delighted  happiness 
that  nothing  else  in  their  lives  could  have  afforded 
them.  Comment  came  afterward,  and  usually  from 
Ma,  the  two  men  merely  punctuating  her  remarks 
with  affirmative  or  negative  monosyllables. 

It  was  on  the  receipt  of  one  of  these  letters  that 
Ma  saw  her  way  to  a  small  scheme  which  had  been 
slowly  revolving  itself  in  her  brain  ever  since  Seth 
was  wounded.  Seth  had  been  in  the  habit  of  en> 
closing  occasional  short  notes  under  cover  of  the  old 
woman's  more  bulky  and  labored  replies  to  the  girl. 
Since  his  misadventure  these,  of  course,  had  been 
discontinued,  with  the  result  that  now,  at  last.  Rose- 
bud was  asking  for  an  explanation. 

In  reading  the  letter  aloud  Ma  avoided  that  por- 
tion of  it  which  referred  to  the  matter.  Her  reason 
was  obviously  to  keep  her  own  plans  from  her  boy's 
knowledge,  but  so  clumsily  did  she  skip  to  another 
part  of  the  letter,  that,  all  unconscious  of  it,  she  drew 
from  her  audience  a  sharp  look  of  inquiry. 

Nothing  was  said  at  the  time,  but  the  following 
day,  at   supper,  when    Ma   and    Rube   were   alone, 


220      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

the  man,  who  had  taken  the  whole  day  to  consider 
the  matter,  spoke  of  it  in  the  blunt  fashion  habitual 
to  him. 

"  Guess  ther'  was  suthin'  in  that  letter  you  didn't 
read.  Ma?"  he  said  without  preamble. 

Ma  looked  up.  Her  bright  eyes  peered  keenly 
through  her  spectacles  into  her  husband's  massive 
face. 

"  An'  if  ther'  was?"  she  said  interrogatively. 

The  old  man  shrugged. 

"  Guess  I  was  wonderin',"  he  said,  plying  his 
knife  and  fork  with  some  show  of  indifference. 

A  silence  followed.  Ma  helped  herself  to  more 
tea  and  refilled  her  husband's  mug. 

"Guess  we'll  have  to  tell  the  child,"  she  said 
presently. 

"  Seems  like." 

A  longer  silence  followed. 

^*  She  was  jest  askin'  why  Seth  didn't  write." 

••  I  kind  o'  figgered  suthin'  o'  that  natur'.  You'd 
best  tell  her." 

Rube  rested  the  ends  of  his  knife  and  fork  on  the 
extremities  of  his  plate  and  took  a  noisy  draught 
from  his  huge  mug  of  tea.  A  quiet  smile  lurked  in 
the  old  woman's  eyes. 

"  Rosebud's  mighty  impulsive,"  she  observed 
slowly. 

"  Ef  you  mean  she  kind  o*  jumps  at  things,  I  take 
it  that's  how." 

The  old  woman  nodded,  and  a  reflection  of  hei 


TWO  HEADS  IN  CONSPIRACY  221 

smile  twinkled  in  her  husband's  eyes  as  he  gazed 
over  at  the  little  figure  opposite  him. 

"  Wal,"  said  Rube,  expansively,  "  it  ain't  fer  me 
to  tell  you,  Ma,  but  we've  got  our  dooty.  Guess  I 
ain't  a  heap  at  writin'  fancy  notions,  but  mebbe  I 
ken  help  some.  Y'  see  it's  you  an'  me.  1  'lows 
Seth  would  hate  to  worrit  Rosie  wi'  things,  but  as  I 
said  we've  got  our  dooty,  an'  it  seems " 

"Dooty?"  Ma  chuckled.  "Say,  Rube,  we'll 
write  to  the  girl,  you  an'  me.  An'  we  don't  need  to 
ask  no  by-your-leave  of  nobody.     Not  even  Seth." 

"Not  even  Seth." 

The  two  conspirators  eyed  one  another  slyly, 
smiled  with  a  quaint  knowingness,  and  resumed 
their  supper  in  silence. 

A  common  thought,  a  common  hope,  held  them. 
Neither  would  have  spoken  it  openly,  even  though 
no  one  was  there  to  overhear.  Each  felt  that  they 
were  somehow  taking  advantage  of  Seth  and,  per- 
haps, not  doing  quite  the  right  thing  by  Rosebud  ; 
but  after  all  they  were  old,  simple  people  who  loved 
these  two,  and  had  never  quite  given  up  the  hope  of 
seeing  them  ultimately  brought  together. 

The  meal  was  finished,  and  half  an  hour  later  they 
were  further  working  out  their  mild  conspiracy  in 
the  parlor.  Ma  was  the  scribe,  and  was  seated  at 
the  table  surrounded  by  all  the  appurtenances  of  her 
business.  Rube,  in  a  great  mental  effort,  was  cloud- 
ing the  atmosphere  with  the  reeking  fumes  of  his 
pipe.     The  letter  was  a  delicate  matter,  and  its  re- 


222      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

sponsibility  sat  heavily  on  this  man  of  the  plains 
Ma  was  less  embarrassed  ;  her  woman's  instinct 
helped  her.  Besides,  since  Rosebud  had  been  away 
she  had  almost  become  used  to  writing  letters. 

"  Say,  Rube,"  she  said,  looking  up  after  heading 
her  note-paper,  "  how  d'  you  think  it'll  fix  her  when 
she  hears  ?  " 

Rube  gazed  at  the  twinkling  eyes  raised  to  his  ; 
he  gave  a  chuckling  grunt,  and  his  words  came  with 
elephantine  meaning. 

"  She'll  be  all  of  a  muss-up  at  it." 

Ma's  smile  broadened. 

"  What's  makin'  you  lafl.  Ma  ? "  the  old  man 
asked, 

"  Jest  nuthin'.  I  was  figgerin'  if  the  gal  could — if 
we  could  git  her  reply  before  spring  opens." 

"Seems  likely — if  the  boat  don't  sink," 

Ma  put  the  end  of  her  pen  in  her  mouth  and  eyed 
her  man.  Rube  scratched  his  head  and  smoked 
bard.  Neither  spoke.  At  last  the  woman  jerked 
out  an  impatient  inquiry. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

Rube  removed  his  pipe  from  his  lips  with  great 
deliberation  and  eased  himself  in  his  chair. 

"  You've  located  the  name  of  the  farm  on  top,  an* 
the  State,  an*  the  date  ? "  he  inquired,  by  way  of 
gaining  time. 

"  Guess  I  ain't  daft,  Rube." 

"  No"  The  man  spoke  as  though  his  answer  were 
the  result  of  deliberate  thought      Then  he  cleared  his 


TWO  HEADS  IN  CONSPIRACY  223 

ihroat,  took  a  long  final  pull  at  his  pipe,  removed  it 
trom  his  mouth,  held  it  poised  in  the  manner  of  one 
who  has  something  of  importance  to  say,  and  sat 
bolt  upright.  "  Then  I  guess  we  ken  git  right  on." 
And  having  thus  clearly  marked  their  course  he  sat 
back  and  complacently  surveyed  his  wife. 

But  the  brilliancy  of  his  suggestion  was  lost  on 
Ma,  and  she  urged  him  further. 

"Well?" 

"  Wal — I'd  jest  say,  '  Honored  Lady,'  "  he  sug- 
gested doubtfully. 

"  Mussy  on  the  man,  we're  writin'  to  Rosebud  ! " 
exclaimed  the  old  woman. 

"  Sure."  Rube  nodded  patronizingly,  but  he 
seemed  a  little  uncomfortable  under  his  wife's  stare 
of  amazement.  "  But,"  he  added,  in  a  tone  meant 
to  clinch  the  argument,  "  she  ain't  '  Rosebud  '  no 
longer." 

"Rubbish  an'  stufi !  She's  'Rosebud' — jest 
*  Rosebud.'  An'  '  dearest  Rosebud '  at  that,  an'  so 
I've  got  it,"  Ma  said,  hurriedly  wTiting  the  words  as 
she  spoke.  "  Now,"  she  went  on,  looking  up,  "  you 
can  git  on  wi'  the  notions  to  foller," 

Again  Rube  cleared  his  throat.  Ma  watched  him, 
chewing  the  end  of  her  penholder  the  while.  The 
man  knocked  his  pipe  out  and  slowly  began  to  refill 
it.  He  looked  out  the  window  into  the  blackness  of 
the  winter  night.  His  vast  face  was  heavy  with 
thought,  and  his  shaggy  gray  brows  were  closely 
knit.     As  she  watched,  the  old  woman's  bright  eyes 


224      THE  V\iATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

smiled.  Her  thoughts  had  gone  back  to  their  court- 
ing days.  She  thought  of  the  two  or  three  letters 
Rube  had  contrived  to  send  her,  which  were  still  up- 
stairs in  an  old  trunk  containing  her  few  treasures. 
She  remembered  that  these  letters  had,  in  each  case, 
begun  with  "  Honored  Lady."  She  wondered  where 
he  had  obtained  the  notion  which  still  remained  with 
him  after  all  these  years. 

Feeling  the  silence  becoming  irksome  Rube  moved 
uneasily. 

"  Y'  see  it's  kind  o'  del'cate.  Don't  need  handlin' 
rough,"  he  said.  "Seems  you'd  best  go  on  like 
this.  Mebbe  you  ken  jest  pop  it  down  rough-like 
an'   fix  it  after.     '  Which  it's  my  painful  dooty  an' 

pleasure ' " 

•  La,  but  you  always  was  neat  at  fixin'  words, 
Rube,"  Ma  murmured,  while  she  proceeded  to  write. 
"  How's  this?"  she  went  on  presently,  reading  what 
she  had  just  written.  '*  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  tell  you 
as  Seth's  got  hurt  pretty  bad.  He's  mighty  sick, 
an'  liable  to  be  abed  come  spring.  Pore  feller,  he's 
patient  as  he  always  is,  but  he's  all  mussed-up  an' 
broken  shocking ;  shot  in  the  side  an'  got  bones 
smashed  up.  Howsum,  he's  goin'  on  all  right,  an' 
we  hope  for  the  best." 

"  I  'lows  that's  neat,"  Rube  said,  lighting  his 
pipe  "'Tain't  jest  w^hat  I'd  fancy.  Sounds  kind 
o'  familiar.  An'  I  guess  it's  li'ble  to  scare  her 
some." 

"Well?" 


TWO  HEADS  IN  CONSPIRACY  225 

'*  Wal,  I  tho't  we'd  put  it  easy-like." 

Ma  looked  a  little  scornful.  Rube  was  certainly 
lacking  in  duplicity. 

"  Say,  Rube,  you  ain't  a  bit  smarter  than  when 
you  courted  me.  I  jest  want  that  gal  to  think  it's 
mighty  bad." 

"Eh?"     Rube  stared. 

Ma  was  getting  impatient. 

*'  I  guess  you  never  could  see  a  mile  from  your 
own  nose,  Rube ;  you're  that  dull  an'  slow  wher' 
gals  is  concerned.  I'll  write  this  letter  in  my  own 
way.  You'd  best  go  an'  yarn  with  Seth.  An'  you 
needn't  say  nuthin'  o'  this  to  him.  We'll  git  a 
quick  answer  from  Rosebud,  or  I'm  ter'ble  slow 
'bout  some  things,  like  you." 

The  cloud  of  responsibility  suddenly  lifted  from 
the  farmer's  heavy  features.  He  smiled  his  relief  at 
his  partner  in  conspiracy.  He  knew  that  in  such  a 
matter  as  the  letter  he  was  as  much  out  of  place  as 
one  of  his  own  steers  would  be.  Ma,  he  was  con- 
vinced, was  one  of  the  cleverest  of  her  sex,  and  if 
Seth  and  Rosebud  were  ever  to  be  brought  together 
again  she  would  do  it.  So  he  rose,  and,  moving 
round  to  the  back  of  his  wife's  chair,  laid  his  great 
hand  tenderly  on  her  soft,  gray  hair. 

"  You  git  right  to  it.  Ma,"  he  said.  "  We  ain't  got 
no  chick  of  our  own.  Ther's  jest  Seth  to  foller  us, 
an'  if  you  ken  help  him  out  in  this  thing,  same  as 
you  once  helped  me  out,  you're  doin'  a  real  fine 
thing.     The  boy  ain't  happy  wi'out  Rosebud,  an' 


226      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

ain't  never  like  to  be.  You  fix  it,  an'  I'll  buy  you  a 
noo  buggy.     Guess  I'll  go  to  Seth." 

Ma  looked  up  at  the  gigantic  man,  and  the  tender 
look  she  gave  him  belied  the  practical  brusqueness 
of  her  words. 

"  Don't  you  git  talkin'  foolish.  Ther'  was  a  time 
when  I'd  'a'  liked  you  to  talk  foolish,  but  you 
couldn't  do  it  then,  you  were  that  slow.  Git  right 
along.  I'll  fix  this  letter,  an'  read  it  to  you  when 
it's  done." 

Rube  passed  out  of  the  room,  gurgling  a  deep- 
throated  chuckle,  while  his  wife  went  steadily  on 
with  the  all-important  matter  in  hand* 


CHAPTER  XXII 

ROSEBUD'S  ANSWER 

It  was  a  dazzling  morning  nearly  five  weeks  after 
the  dispatching  of  Ma  Sampson's  letter  to  Rosebud. 
The  heralds  of  spring,  the  warm,  southern  breezes, 
which  brought  trailing  flights  of  geese  and  wild  duck 
winging  northward,  and  turned  the  pallor  of  the 
snow  to  a  dirty  drab  hue,  like  a  soiled  white  dress, 
had  already  swept  across  the  plains.  The  sunlight 
was  fiercely  blinding.  Even  the  plainsman  is  wary 
at  this  time  of  the  year,  for  the  perils  of  snow-blind- 
ness are  as  real  to  him  as  to  the  "  tenderfoot" 

There  had  been  no  reply  from  Rosebud.  Two 
more  letters  from  her  reached  the  farm,  but  they  had 
been  written  before  the  letter,  which  Rube  helped  to 
compose,  had  been  received.  Since  then  no  word 
had  come  from  the  girl.  Ma  was  satisfied,  and  ac- 
cepted her  silence  with  equanimity,  but  for  appear- 
ances' sake  assumed  an  attitude  of  complaint.  Rube 
said  nothing ;  he  had  no  subtlety  in  these  matters. 
Seth  was  quite  in  the  dark.  He  never  complained, 
but  he  was  distressed  at  this  sudden  and  unaccount- 
able desertion. 

Seth's  wound  and  broken  shoulder  had  healed. 


228      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

He  had  been  up  a  week,  but  this  was  his  first  daj* 
out  of  the  house.  Now  he  stood  staring  out  with 
shaded  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  Reservations. 
During  the  past  week  he  had  received  visits  from 
many  of  the  neighboring  settlers.  Parker,  particu- 
larly, had  been  his  frequent  companion.  He  had 
learned  all  that  it  was  possible  for  him  to  learn  by 
hearsay  of  the  things  which  most  interested  him  ; 
but,  even  so,  he  felt  that  he  had  much  time  to  make 
up,  much  to  learn  that  could  come  only  from  his  own 
observation. 

Now,  on  this  his  first  day  out  in  the  open,  he  found 
himself  feeling  very  weak,  a  thin,  pale  shadow  of  his 
former  self.  Curiously  enough  he  had  little  inclina- 
tion for  anything.  He  simply  stood  gazing  upon  the 
scene  before  him,  drinking  in  deep  draughts  of  the 
pure,  bracing,  spring  air.  Though  his  thoughts 
should  have  been  with  those  matters  which  con- 
cerned the  welfare  of  the  homestead,  they  were  thou- 
sands of  miles  away,  somewhere  in  a  London  of  his 
own  imagination,  among  people  he  had  never  seen, 
looking  on  at  a  life  and  pleasures  of  which  he  had  no 
knowledge  of,  and  through  it  all  he  was  struggling 
to  understand  how  it  was  Rosebud  had  come  to  forget 
them  all  so  utterly,  and  so  suddenly. 

He  tried  to  make  allowances,  to  point  out  to  him- 
self the  obligations  of  the  girl's  new  life.  He  excused 
her  at  every  point ;  yet,  when  it  was  all  done,  when 
he  had  proved  to  himself  the  utter  impossibility  oi 
her  keeping  up  a  weekly  correspondence,  he  was  dis- 


ROSEBUD'S  ANSWER  229 

satisfied,   disappointed.     There  was  something  be- 
hind it  all,  some  reason  which  he  could  not  fathom. 

In  the  midst  of  these  reflections  he  was  joined  by 
Rube.  The  old  man  was  smoking  his  after-break- 
fast pipe. 

"She's  openin',"  he  said,  indicating  the  brown 
patches  of  earth  already  showing  through  the  snow. 
Seth  nodded. 

They  were  standing  just  outside  the  great  stock- 
ade which  had  been  completed  during  Seth's  long 
illness.  There  were  only  the  gates  waiting  to  be 
hung  upon  their  vast  iron  hinges. 

After  the  old  man's  opening  remark  a  long  silence 
fell.  Seth's  thoughts  ran  on  unchecked  in  spite  of 
the  other's  presence.  Rube  smoked  and  watched  the 
lean  figure  beside  him  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes. 
He  was  speculating,  t^o,  but  his  thought  was  of  their 
own  immediate  surroundings.  Now  that  Seth  was 
about  again  he  felt  that  it  would  be  good  to  talk 
with  him.  He  knew  there  was  much  to  consider. 
Though  perhaps  he  lacked  something  of  the  younger 
man's  keen  Indian  knowledge  he  lacked  nothing  in 
experience,  and  experience  told  him  that  the  winter, 
after  what  had  gone  before,  had  been,  but  for  the  one 
significant  incident  of  Seth's  wound,  ver}%  very  quiet 
— too  quiet. 

*•  Sa)%  boy,"  the  old  man  went  on,  some  minutes 
later,  "  guess  yoa  sir  t  varp^d  a  hean  'bout  your 
shootin'  racket?" 

Seth  was  suddenly  brought  back  to  his  surround- 


230      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

ings.  His  eyes  thoughtfully  settled  on  the  distant 
line  of  woodland  that  marked  the  river  and  the  Res- 
ervation.    He  answered  readily  enough. 

'*  That  shootin'  don't  afifect  nothin' — nothin'  but 
me,"  he  said  with  meaning. 

•*  I  thought  Little " 

Seth  shook  his  head.  He  took  Rube's  meaning  at 
once. 

"  That's  to  come,  I  guess,"  he  said  gravely. 

Rube  suddenly  looked  away  down  the  trail  in  the 
direction  of  Beacon  Crossing.  His  quick  ears  had 
caught  an  unusual  sound.  It  was  a  "  Coo-ee,"  but 
so  thin  and  faint  that  it  came  to  him  like  the  cry  of 
some  small  bird.  Seth  heard  it,  too,  and  he  turned 
and  gazed  over  the  rotting  sleigh  track  which  spring 
was  fast  rendering  impassable.  There  was  nothing 
in  sight.  Just  the  gray  expanse  of  melting  snow, 
dismal,  uninteresting  even  in  the  flooding  sun- 
light. 

Rube  turned  back  to  the  gateway  of  the  stockade. 
His  pipe  was  finished  and  he  had  work  to  do.  Seth 
was  evidently  in  no  mood  for  talk. 

"I'd  git  around  and  breathe  good  air  fer  a  whiles," 
he  said  kindly,  "  y'  ain't  goin'  to  git  strong  of  a  sud 
den,  Seth." 

"  Guess  I'll  ride  this  afternoon.     Hello  !  " 

The  cry  reached  them  again,  louder,  still  high- 
pitched  and  shrill,  but  nearer.  Away  down  the  trail 
a  figure  in  black  furs  was  moving  toward  them. 

Both  men   watched  the  object  with  the  keenest 


ROSEBUD'S  ANSWER  231 

interest.  It  was  a  mere  speck  on  the  gray  horizon, 
but  it  was  plainly  human,  and  evidently  wishful  to 
draw  their  attention. 

*•  Some'un  wantin*  us  ?  "  said  Rube  in  a  puzzled 
tone. 

•'  Seems."     Seth  was  intent  upon  the  figure. 

Another  "  Coo-ee  "  rang  out,  and  Rube  responded 
with  his  deep  guttural  voice.  And,  in  answer,  the 
bundle  of  furs  raised  two  arms  and  waved  them 
beckoningly. 

Rube  moved  along  the  trail.  Without  knowing 
quite  why,  but  roused  to  a  certain  curiosity,  he  was 
going  to  meet  the  newcomer.     Seth  followed  him. 

Seth's  gait  was  slower  than  the  older  man's,  and 
he  soon  dropped  behind.  Suddenly  he  saw  Rube 
stop  and  turn,  beckoning  him  on.  When  he  came 
up  the  old  man  pointed  down  the  road. 

*'  It's  a  woman,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  curious 
look  in  his  eyes. 

The  muffled  figure  was  more  than  a  hundred  and 
fifty  yards  away,  but  still  laboriously  stumbling  along 
the  snow-bound  trail  toward  them. 

Before  Seth  could  find  a  reply  another  "  Coo-ee  " 
reached  them,  followed  quickly  by  some  words  that 
were  blurred  by  the  distance.  Seth  started.  The 
voice  had  a  curiously  familiar  sound.  He  glanced 
at  Rube,  and  the  old  man's  face  wore  a  look  of 
grinning  incredulity 

"  Sounds   like "     Seth   began   to    speak   but 

broke  ofi. 


232       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Gee  I  Come  on  !  "  cried  Rube,  in  a  boisterous 
tone.     '"It's  Rosebud  ! " 

The  two  men  hastened  forward.  Rube's  announce- 
mtnt  seemed  incredible.  How  could  it  be  Rosebud — 
and  on  foot  ?  The  surface  of  the  trail  gave  way  under 
their  feet  at  almost  every  step.  But  they  were  un* 
deterred.  Slush  or  ice,  deep  snow  or  floundering  in 
water  holes,  it  made  no  difference.  It  was  a  race  foi 
that  muffled  figure,  and  Rube  was  an  easy  winner. 
When  Seth  came  up  he  found  the  bundle  of  furs  in 
the  bear-like  embrace  of  the  older  man.  It  was 
Rosebud  1 

Questions  raced  through  Seth's  brain  as  he  looked 
on,  panting  with  the  exertion  his  enfeebled  frame  had 
been  put  to.  How  ?  Why  ?  What  was  the  mean- 
ing of  it  all  ?  But  his  questions  remained  unspoken. 
Nor  was  he  left  in  doubt  long.  Rosebud  laughing, 
her  wonderful  eyes  dancing  with  an  inexpressible 
delight,  released  herself  and  turned  to  Seth,  Im- 
mediately her  face  fell  as  she  looked  on  the  shadow 
of  a  man  standing  before  her. 

"  Why,  Seth,"  she  cried,  in  a  tone  of  great  pity 
and  alarm  that  deceived  even  Rube,  "  what's  the 
matter  that  you  look  so  ill  ?  "  She  turned  swiftly 
and  flashed  a  meaning  look  into  Rube's  eyes. 
•'  What  is  it  ?  Quick  !  Oh,  you  two  sillies,  tell  me  I 
Seth,  you've  been  ill,  and  you  never  told  me  !  " 

Slow  of  wit,  utterly  devoid  of  subterfuge  as  Rube 
was,  for  once  he  grasped  the  situation. 

"  Why,  gal,  it's  jest  nothin'.     Seth's  been  mighty 


ROSEBUD'S  ANSWER  233 

sick,   but  he's  right  enough   now.   ain't  you,  Seth, 
boy  ?  " 

"  Sure." 

Seth  had  nothing  to  add,  but  he  held  out  his  hand, 
and  the  girl  seized  it  in  both  of  hers,  while  her  eyes 
darkened  to  an  expression  which  these  men  failed  to 
interpret,  but  which  Ma  Sampson  could  have  read 
aright.  Seth  cleared  his  throat,  and  his  dark  eyes 
gazed  beyond  the  girl  and  down  the  trail. 

"  How'd  you  come,  Rosie  ?  "  he  asked  practically. 
"  You  ain't  traipsed  from  Beacon  ?  " 

Suddenly  the  girl's  laugh  rang  out.  It  was  the  old 
irresponsible  laugh  that  had  always  been  the  joy  of 
these  men's  hearts,  and  it  brought  a  responsive  smile 
to  their  faces  now. 

"Oh,  I  forgot,"  she  cried.  "The  delight  of  seeing 
you  two  dears  put  it  out  of  my  silly  head.  Why,  we 
drove  out  from  Beacon,  and  the  wagon's  stuck  in  a 
hollow  away  back,  and  my  cousin,  I  call  her  '  aunt,' 
and  her  maid,  and  all  the  luggage  are  mired  on  the 
road,  calling  down  I  don't  know  what  terrible  curses 
upon  the  country  and  its  people,  and  our  teamster  in 
particular.  So  I  just  left  them  to  it  and  came  right 
on  to  get  help.  Auntie  was  horrified  at  my  going, 
you  know.  Said  I'd  get  rheumatic  fever  and  pneu 
monia,  and  threatened  to  take  me  back  home  if  I 
went,  and  I  told  her  she  couldn't  unless  I  got  help  to 
move  the  wagon,  and  so  here  I  am." 

Rube's  great  face  had  never  ceased  to  beam,  and 
now,  as  the  girl  paused  for  breath,  he  turned  for  home 


234      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Guess  I'll  jest  get  the  team  out  Gee  1  "  And 
he  went  off  at  a  great  gait. 

Seth  looked  gravely  at  the  girl's  laughing  face. 

"  Guess  you'd  best  come  on  home.  Mebbe  your 
feet  are  wet." 

Thus,  after  months  of  parting,  despite  the  changed 
conditions  of  the  girl's  life,  the  old  order  was  resumed. 
Rosebud  accepted  Seth's  domination  as  though  it 
was  his  perfect  right.  Without  one  word  or  thought 
of  protest  she  walked  at  his  side.  In  silence  he 
helped  her  over  the  broken  trail  to  the  home  she  had 
so  long  known  and  still  claimed.  Once  only  was  that 
silence  broken.  It  was  when  the  girl  beheld  the 
fortified  appearance  of  the  farm.  She  put  her  ques- 
tion in  a  low,  slightly  awed  tone. 

"  What's  all  this  for,  Seth  ?  "  she  asked.  She  knew, 
but  she  felt  that  she  must  ask. 

"  Them  logs  ?  "     The  man  responded  indifferently. 

"  Yes,  that  stockade." 

"  Oh,  jest  nothin*.  Y'  see  we  need  a  bit  o'  fence- 
like." 

Rosebud  looked  at  him  from  out  of  the  corners  of 
her  eyes  as  she  trudged  at  his  side, 

*'  I'm  glad  I  came,  Seth.  I'm  just  in  time.  Poor 
auntie  1 " 

The  next  moment  her  arms  were  around  Ma 
Sampson's  neck,  hugging  the  old  woman,  who  had 
heard  of  the  girl's  arrival  from  Rube  and  had  come 
out  to  meet  her. 

"  La  sakes,  come  right  in  at  once.  Rosie,  gal ! '  she 


ROSEBUD'S  ANSWER  235 

exclaimed,  when  she  was  permitted  a  chance  of 
speech.  And  laughing  and  chattering  in  the  very 
wildest  delight,  Rosebud  led  the  way  and  romped 
mto  the  house. 

In  the  dear  familiar  kitchen,  after  the  girl  had 
gazed  at  the  various  simple  furnishings  she  had  so 
long  known  and  loved,  she  poured  out  her  tale,  the 
reason  of  her  coming,  with  a  blissful  disregard  for 
truth.  Ma  took  her  cue  and  listened  to  the  wonder- 
ful fabrication  the  girl  piled  up  for  her  astonished 
ears,  and  more  particularly  Seth's,  Apparently  the 
one  thing  that  had  not  entered  into  her  madcap  con- 
siderations was  Seth's  illness. 

Just  as  her  story  came  to  an  end,  and  the  sound  of 
wheels  outside  warned  them  of  the  arrival  of  the 
wagon.  Rosebud  turned  upon  Seth  with  something  of 
her  old  wilful  impetuosity. 

"  And  now,  Seth,"  she  said,  her  eyes  dancing  with 
audacity  and  mischief,  "  you're  a  sick  man  and  all 
that,  so  there's  every  excuse  for  you,  but  you  haven't 
said  you're  glad  to  see  me." 

Seth  smiled  thoughtfully  as  he  g^zed  on  the  fair, 
trim-figured  woman  challenging  him.  He  noted 
with  a  man's  pleasure  the  perfectly  fitting  tailor-made 
traveling  costume,  the  beautifully  arranged  hair,  the 
delightful  Parisian  hat.  He  looked  into  the  animated 
face,  the  only  thing  about  her  that  seemed  to  be  as 
of  old.  Though  he  saw  that  her  outward  appearance 
was  changed,  even  improved,  he  knew  that  that  was 
all.     It  was  the  same  Rosebud,  the  same  old  spirit. 


236      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

honest,  fearless,  warm-hearted,  loving,  that  looked 
out  of  her  wondrous  eyes,  and  he  felt  his  pulses  stir 
and  something  like  a  lump  rose  in  his  throat  as  he 
answered  her. 

"  Wal,  litde  gal,  I  guess  you  don't  need  me  to  tell 
you  Pleased  1  that  don't  cut  no  meanin*.  Yet  I'm 
kind  o  sorry  too.     Y'  see  ther's  things " 

Ma  interrupted  him. 

''  Hes  right,  Rosebud  dear,  it's  a  bad  time." 

The  girl's  reply  came  with  a  laugh  full  of  careless 
mischief  and  confidence. 

"  Poor  auntie  !  "  Then  she  became  suddenly  se- 
rious. "  They're  outside,"  she  went  on.  "  Let  us 
go  and  bring  her  in." 

A  moment  later  Ma  found  herself  greeting  Rose- 
bud's second  cousin  and  chaperone.  Mrs.  Rickards 
was  an  elderly  lady,  stout,  florid,  and  fashionably 
dressed,  who  had  never  been  further  afield  in  her  life 
than  the  Europe  of  society. 

Her  greeting  was  an  effort.  She  was  struggling 
to  conceal  a  natural  anger  and  resentment  against 
the  inconvenience  of  their  journey  from  Beacon 
Crossing,  and  the  final  undignified  catastrophe  of  the 
wagon  sticking  iast  in  the  slush  and  mud  on  the  trail, 
and  against  Rosebud  in  particular,  under  a  p^)'i-«  at- 
tempt at  cordiality.  She  would  probably  have 
succeeded  in  recovering  her  natural  good-humored 
composure  but  for  the  girl  herself,  who,  in  the 
midst  of  the  good  creature's  expostulations,  put 
(he  final  touch  to  her  mischief,     Mrs.  Rickards  had 


ROSEBUD'S  ANSWER  237 

turned  solicitously  upon  her  charge  with  an  admon 
itory  finger  raised  in  her  direction. 

"  And  as  for  Rosie, — she  insists  on  being  called 
Rosebud  still,  Mrs.  Sampson — after  her  tramp  through 
all  that  dreadful  snow  and  slush  she  must  be  utterly 
done  up,"  she  said  kindly. 

"  Done  up,  auntie  ?  Tired  ?  "  the  girl  said,  with  a 
litde  scornful  laugh.  "  Don't  you  believe  it.  Why 
the  fun's  only  just  beginning,  isn't  it,  Seth  ?  Do  you 
know,  auntie  dear,  the  Indians  are  getting  trouble- 
some ;  they're  going  out  on  the  war-path.  Aren't 
they,  Seth  ?     And  we're  just  in  time  to  get  scalped." 

But  Seth  had  no  responsive  smile  for  the  girl's 
sally.  His  face  was  grave  enough  as  he  turned  to 
the  horrified  woman. 

'  Ma'am,"  he  said,  in  that  slow  drawling  fashion 
which  gave  so  much  gravity  and  dignity  to  his 
speech,  "  I'll  take  it  kindly  if  you  won't  gamble  a 
heap  on  this  little  gal's  nonsense.  I've  known  her 
some  few  years,  an'  I  guess  she's  nigh  the  worst  sav- 
age in  these  parts — which,  I  guess,  says  a  deal." 

Seth's  rebuke  lost  nothing  of  its  sharpness  by  rea- 
son of  the  gende  manner  in  which  it  was  spoken. 
Rosebud  felt  its  full  force  keenly.  She  flushed  to  the 
roots  of  her  hair  and  her  eyes  were  bright  with  re- 
sentment. She  pouted  her  displeasure  and,  without 
a  word,  abruptly  left  the  room. 

Ma  and  Mrs.  Rickards — the  latter's  composure 
quite  restored  by  Seth's  reassurance — looked  after 
her.     Both  smiled. 


238      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Seth  remained  grave.  The  girl's  mischief  had 
brought  home  to  him  the  full  responsibility  which 
devolved  upon  Rube  and  himself. 

Truly  it  was  the  old  Rosebud  who  had  returned  to 
White  River  Farm 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

LOVE'S   PROGRESS 

It  was  the  night  of  Rosebud's  arrival.  Seth  and 
Rube  were  just  leaving  the  barn.  The  long  day's 
work  was  done.  Seth  had  been  out  all  the  afternoon 
riding.  Although  his  ride  was  nominally  in  pursuit 
of  health  and  strength,  he  had  by  no  means  been 
idle  Now  he  was  bodily  weary,  and  at  the  door  of 
the  barn  he  sat  down  on  the  corn-bin.  Rube,  paus- 
ing to  prepare  his  pipe,  saw,  by  the  flickering  light 
of  the  stable  lantern,  that  his  companion's  face  was 
ghastly  pale. 

"  Feelin'  kind  o'  mean  ? ''  he  suggested  with  gruff 
sympathy. 

''  Meaner'n  a  yaller  dawg." 

There  was  anxiety  in  the  older  man's  deep-set  eyes 
as  he  noted  the  flicker  of  a  smile  which  accompanied 
the  reply 

"  There  ain't  nothin'  fresh  ?  ''  Rube  pursued  as  the 
other  remained  silent 

"Wal,  no.  'cep'  Rosebud's  got  back.* 

"How?" 

Seth  shrugged 

"  Guess  it  means  a  heap,''  he  said,  and  paused 
Then  a  faint  flush  slowly  spread  over  his  thin,  orawn 
face.     ''  Nothin'  could  a'  happened  along  nov»    *»iss 


240       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

than  Rosie's  gettin'  around/*  he  went  on  with  intense 
ieeling.  "  Can't  you  see,  Rube  ? "  He  reached  out 
and  laid  an  emphatic  hand  on  his  companion's  arm. 
"Can't  you  see  what's  goin'  to  come?  Ther's  trou- 
ble comin'  sure.  Trouble  for  us  all.  Trouble  for 
that  gal  The  news  is  around  the  Reservation  now. 
It'll  reach  Black  Fox  'fore  to-morrow   mornin',  an' 

then Pshaw  !    Rube,  I  love  that  gal.    She's  more 

to  me  than  even  you  an'  Ma  ;  she's  more  to  me  than 
life.  I  can't  never  marry  her,  seein'  how  things  are, 
but  that  don't  cut  no  figger.  But  I'm  goin'  to  see 
after  her  whatever  happens.  Ther'  ain't  no  help 
comin'.  Them  few  soldier-fellers  don't  amount  to  a 
heap  o'  beans.  The  Injuns  '11  chaw  'em  up  if  they 
notion  it.  An'  I'm  like  a  dead  man,  Rube — jest  a 
hulk.  God,  Rube,  if  harm  comes  to  that  pore 
gal Pshaw  !  " 

Seth's  outburst  was  so  unusual  that  Rube  stared  in 
silent  amazement.  It  seemed  as  if  his  bodily  weak- 
ness had  utterly  broken  down  the  stern  self-repression 
usually  his.  It  was  as  though  with  the  weakening 
of  muscle  had  come  a  collapse  of  his  wonderful  self- 
reliance,  and  against  his  will  he  was  driven  to  seek 
support. 

Rube  removed  his  pipe  from  his  mouth.  His  slow 
moving  brain  was  hard  at  work.  His  sympathy  was 
not  easy  for  him  to  express. 

"Guess  it  ain't  easy,  Seth,  boy,"  he  said  judicially, 
at  last.  "  Them  things  never  come  easy  if  a  man's 
a  man.     I've  felt  the  same  in  the  old  days,  *fore  Ma 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS  244 

-dn'  me  got  hitched.     Y'  see  the  Injuns  wus  wuss 
them  days — a  sight.     Guess  I  jest  sat  tight." 

Though  so  gently  spoken^  the  old  man's  words 
had  mstant  effect.  Already  Seth  was  ashamed  of  his 
weakness.  He  knew,  no  one  better,  the  strenuous 
life  of  single-hearted  courage  this  old  man  had 
lived. 

"  I'm  kind  o'  sorry  I  spoke,  Rube.  But  I  ain*t  jest 
thinkin'  o'  myself.'' 

"  I  know,  boy.  You're  jest  worritin'  'cause  you're 
sick.  I  know  you.  You  an'  me  are  goin'  to  set 
tight.  Your  eye  '11  be  on  the  gal ;  guess  I'll  figger 
on  Ma.  These  sort  o'  troubles  jest  come  and  go. 
I've  seen  'em  before.  So've  you.  It's  the  gal  that 
makes  the  diff'rence  fer  you.  Say,  lad,"  Rube  laid  a 
kindly  hand  on  the  sick  man's  drooping  shoulders, 
and  his  manner  became  lighter,  and  there  was  a 
twinkle  in  his  deep-set  eyes,  "  when  I'd  located  that 
1  wanted  Ma  fer  wife  I  jest  up  an'  sez  so.  I  'lows 
the  job  wa'n't  easy.  I'd  a  heap  sooner  'a'  let  day- 
light into  the  carkises  of  a  dozen  Injuns.  Y'  see 
wimmin's  li'ble  to  fool  you  some.  When  they  knows, 
you're  fixed  on  'em  they  jest  makes  you  hate  your- 
self fer  a  fool-head.  It*s  in  the  natur'  of  'em.  They're 
most  like  young  fillies  'fore  they're  broke — I  sez  it 
wi'out  disrespec'.  Y'  see  a  wummin  ain't  got  a 
roarin'  time  of  it  in  this  world.  An'  jest  about  when 
a  man  gets  fixed  on  'em  is  their  real  fancy  time,  an' 
they  ain't  slow  to  take  all  ther'  is  comin'  -  An'  I  sez. 
they're  dead  right.     An'  jest  when  you're  bustin'  ta 


242       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

tell  'em  how  you're  feelin'— an'  ain't  got  the  savee — 
they're  jest  bustin'  to  hear  that  same.  An'  that's 
how  I  got  figgerin'  after  awhiles,  an'  so  I  ups  an'  has 
it  out  squar .,  Y'  see,"  he  finished,  with  an  air  of 
pride  which  brought  a  smile  to  Seth's  face,  "  I  kind 
o'  swep'  Ma  off  her  feet" 

The  younger  man  had  no  reply  to  make.  His 
mind  went  back  to  Ma's  version  of  Rube's  courtship. 
Rube,  thoroughly  enjoying  his  task  of  rousing  the 
other's  drooping  spirits,  went  on,  carried  away  by 
his  own  enthusiasm. 

*•  Say,  why  has  Rosie  come  back,  boy,  I'd  like  to 
know." 

"  She  said  as  she  couldn't  endure  a  city  no  longer. 
She  wanted  the  plains,  the  Injuns,  Ma,  you,  an'  the 
farm." 

•'  Pshaw — boy  !  Plains !  Farm  I  Injuns  1  Ha, 
ha !  Say,  Seth,  you  ain't  smart,  not  wuth  a  cent. 
She  come  back  'cos  she's  jest  bustin'  to  hear  wliat 
you  darsen't  tell  her.  She's  come  back  'cos  she's  a 
wummin,  an'  couldn't  stay  away  when  you  wus  sick 
an'  wounded  to  death.  I  know.  I  ain't  bin  married 
fer  five  an'  twenty  year  an'  more  wi'out  gittin'  to  the 
bottom  o'  female  natur' — I " 

'*  But  she  didn't  know  I  was  sick,  Rube." 

"Eh?" 

Rube  stood  aghast  at  what  he  had  said.  Seth*s 
lemark  had,  in  his  own  way  of  thinking,  "struck 
him  all  of  a  heap."  He  realized  in  a  flash  where  his 
blundering  had  led  him.     He  had  run  past  himself 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS  243 

m  nis  enthusiasm,  and  given  Ma's  little  scheme 
away,  and,  for  the  moment,  the  enormity  of  his  of- 
fence robbed  him  of  the  power  of  speech.  However, 
he  pulled  himself  together  with  an  effort. 

"  Guess  I  wus  chawin'  more'n  1  could  swaller,"  he 
said  ruefully.  "  Ma  alius  did  say  my  head  wus 
mostly  mutton,  an'  I  kind  o'  figger  she  has  a  powei 
o'  wisdom.  An'  it  wus  a  dead  secret — 'tween  her 
an'  me.  Say,  Seth,  boy,  you  won't  give  me  away  ? 
Y'  see  Ma's  mighty  easy,  but  she's  got  a  way  wi' 
her,  Ma  has." 

The  old  man's  distress  was  painfully  comical. 
The  perspiration  stood  out  on  his  rugged  forehead 
in  large  beads,  and  his  kindly  eyes  were  full  of  a 
great  trouble.  Seth's  next  remark  came  in  the  form 
of  an  uncompromising  question. 

"  Then  Ma  wrote  an'  told  her?" 

•'  Why,  yes,  if  it  comes  to  that  1  guess  she  must 
have." 

Seth  rose  wearily  from  his  seat,  and  ranged  his 
iean  figure  beside  the  old  man's  bulk.  '*  All  right, 
dad,"  he  said,  in  his  quiet,  sober  way.  "  I'm  glad 
you've  told  me.  But  it  don't  alter  nothin',  I  guess 
Meanwhile  I'll  git  round,  an'  quit  whinin'," 

The  arrival  of  Rosebud's  cousin  and  her  maid 
somewhat  disorganized  the  Sampsons'  simple  house- 
hold. Rosebud's  love  of  mischief  was  traceable  in 
chis  mcongruous  descent  upon  the  farm.  Her  own 
coming  was  a  matter  which  no  obstacle  would  have 
stayed.     Ma's  letter  had  nearly  broken  her  heart, 


244      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

and  her  anxiety  was   absolutely  pitiable  until  the 
actual  start  had  been  made. 

That  Seth  was  ill — wounded — and  she  had  not 
known  from  the  first,  had  distracted  her,  and  her 
mind  was  made  up  before  she  had  finished  reading 
the  letter.  Her  obligations  to  her  new  life  were  set 
aside  without  a  second  thought.  What  if  there  were 
invitations  to  social  functions  accepted?  What  if 
her  cousin's  household  were  thrown  into  confusion 
by  her  going  ?  These  things  were  nothing  to  her  ; 
Seth  might  be  dying,  and  her  heart  ached,  and 
something  very  like  terror  urged  her  to  hasten. 

She  had  long  since  learned  that  Seth,  and  Seth 
alone,  was  all  her  world.  Then  the  old  mischievous 
leaning  possessed  her  and  she  resolved,  willy-nilly, 
that  Mrs.  Rickards,  whose  love  she  had  long  since 
won,  as  she  won  ever}^body's  with  whom  she  came 
into  contact,  should  accompany  her. 

This  old  lady,  used  only  to  the  very  acme  of  com- 
fort, had  welcomed  the  idea  of  visiting  Rosebud's 
home  in  the  wilds.  Moreover,  until  the  final  stage 
of  the  journey,  she  thoroughly  enjoyed  herself.  It 
was  not  until  traveling  from  Beacon  Crossing,  and 
the  camping  out  at  the  half-way  house,  that  the 
roughness  of  the  country  was  brought  home  to  her 
Then  came  the  final  mixing  of  the  wdBpp,  and  she 
reviled  the  whole  proceeding.  • 

But  the  ultimate  arrival  at  the  farm,  and  the  meet- 
ing with  its  homely  folk,  soon  restored  her  equa 
nimity      She  at  once  u  armed  to  Ma,  whose  gentle 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS  24s 

practical  disposition  displayed  such  a  wealth  of  true 
womanliness  as  to  be  quite  irresistible,  and,  in  the 
confidence  of  her  bedchamber,  which  she  shared  with 
Rosebud,  she  imparted  her  favorable  impressions. 
She  assured  the  girl  she  no  longer  wondered  that 
she,  Rosebud,  with  everything  that  money  could 
purchase,  still  longed  to  return  to  the  shelter  of  the 
love  which  these  rough  frontier-folk  so  surely  lav- 
ished upon  her. 

"  But,  my  dear,''  she  added,  as  a  warning  proviso, 
and  with  a  touch  of  worldliness  which  her  own  life 
in  England  had  made  almost  part  of  her  nature, 
*'  though  Mrs.  Sampson  is  so  deliciously  simple  and 
good,  and  Mr.  Sampson  is  such  an  exquisite  rough 
diamond,  this  Seth,  whose  trouble  has  brought  us 
out  here,  with  such  undignified  haste,  is  not  the  man 
to  make  the  fuss  about  that  you  have  been  doing  all 
the  journey.  He's  a  fine  man,  or  will  be  when  he 
recovers  from  his  illness,  I  have  no  doubt ;  but,  after 
all,  I  feel  it  my  duty  by  your  dead  father  to  warn 
you  that  I  think  you  are  much  too  concerned  about 
him  for  a  girl  in  your  posidon." 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean,  auntie?"  RosebuQ 
exclaimed,  pausing  in  the  process  of  brushing  out 
her  obstinately  curling  hair.  "  What  position  have 
I  but  that  which  these  dear  people  have  helped  me 
to — that  Seth,  himself,  has  made  for  me?  I  owe  all 
I  have,  or  am  at  this  moment,  to  Seth.  He  saved 
me  from  a  fate  too  terrible  to  contemplate.  He  has 
saved  my  life,  not  once,  but  half  a  dozen  times ;  he 


246      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

found  me  my  father's  fortune,  or  the  fortune  which 
father  has  left  for  me  when  I  marry.  You  are  more 
unkind  than  ever  I  thought  you  could  be.  You 
wait,  auntie,  you  may  yet  learn  to — to  appreciate 
Seth  as  I  do.  You  see  I  know — you  don't  You're 
good,  and  wise,  and  all  that :  but  you  don't  know — 
Seth." 

"  And  it's  very  evident  that  you  think  you  do. 
dear,"  Mrs.  Rickards  said,  wearily  rolling  over  and 
snuggling  down  amidst  the  snowy  sheets  of  the  soft 
feather-bed. 

'*  There  is  no  question  of  thinking,"  Rosebud 
smiled  mischievously  into  the  looking-glass  in  the 
direction  of  her  relative.  "  And  if  Seth  were  to  ask 
me  I  would  marry  him  to-morrow — there.  Yes,  and 
Td  make  him  get  a  special  license  to  avoid  unneces- 
sary delay." 

Of  a  sudden  Mrs.  Rickards  started  up  in  bed.  For 
one  moment  she  severely  eyed  the  girl's  laughing 
face.  Then  her  anger  died  out,  and  she  dropped 
back  on  the  pillow. 

'  For  the  moment  I  thought  you  meant  it,"  she 
said. 

"  And  so  I  do,"  was  the  girl's  swift  retort  "  But 
there,"  as  a  horrified  exclamation  came  from  the  bed, 
"  he  won't  ask  me,  auntie,"  the  girl  went  on.  with  a 
dash  of  angry  impatience  in  her  voice.  ''  so  you 
needn't  worry.  Seth  has  a  sense  of  honor  which  I 
call  quixotic,  and  one  that  might  reasonably  shame 
the  imp>ecunious  fortune-hunters  I've  met  since  I  have 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS  247 

>.ived  in  England.  No,  I'm  afrcdd  if  I  were  to  marry 
Seth  it  wouldn't  be  his  doing" 

*'  This  Seth  said  you  were  a  savage — and  he's 
right." 

With  this  parting  shot  Mrs.  Rickards  turned  over, 
and,  a  moment  later,  was  comfortably  asleep,  as  her 
heavy  breathing  indicated.  Rosebud  remained  a 
long  time  at  the  dressing-table,  but  her  hair  didn't 
trouble  her.  Her  head  was  bowed  on  her  arms,  and 
she  was  quiedy  weeping.  Nor  could  she  have  ex- 
plained her  tears.  They  were  the  result  of  a  blend- 
ing of  both  joy  and  sorrow.  Joy  at  returning  to  the 
farm  and  at  finding  Seth  on  the  highroad  to  recovery  ; 
and  sorrow — who  shall  attempt  to  probe  the  depths 
of  this  maiden's  heart? 

The  day  following  Rosebud's  return  was  a  mo- 
mentous one.  True  to  her  impulsive  character  the 
girl,  unknown  to  anybody,  saddled  her  own  mare  and 
rode  off  on  a  visit  to  Wanaha.  Seth  was  away  from 
the  farm,  or  he  would  probably  have  stopped  her. 
Rube  knew  nothing  of  her  going,  and  Ma  had  her 
time  too  much  occupied  with  Mrs.  Rickards  and  her 
maid  to  attend  to  anything  but  her  household  duties. 
So  Rosebud  was  left  to  her  own  devices,  which,  as 
might  have  been  expected,  led  her  to  do  the  one 
thing  least  desirable. 

Wanaha  was  overjoyed  at  the  girl's  return.  The 
good  Indian  woman  had  experienced  a  very  real 
sense  of  loss,  when,  without  even  a  farewell.  Rose- 
bud suddenly  departed  from  their  midst.     Added  to 


248      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

this  Wanaha  had  had  a  pretty  bad  time  with  her 
husband  after  the  affair  in  the  river  woods.  Abnor- 
mally shrewd  where  all  others  were  concerned,  she  was 
utterly  blind  in  her  husband's  favor.  His  temper 
suddenly  soured  with  Rosebud's  going,  and  the  loyal 
wife  suffered  in  consequence.  Yet  she  failed  to  ap- 
preciate the  significance  of  the  change. 

There  was  no  suspicion  in  her  mind  of  the  manner 
in  which  she  had  foiled  his  plans,  or  even  of  the  na- 
ture of  them.  The  attempt  to  kidnap  the  white  girl 
she  put  down  to  the  enterprise  of  her  brother's  fierce, 
lawless  nature,  and  as  having  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  her  husband-  In  fact  she  still  believed  it  was  of 
that  very  danger  which  Nevil  had  wanted  to  warn 
Rosebud. 

Now,  when  the  girl  suddenly  burst  in  upon  her, 
Wanaha  was  overjoyed,  for  she  thought  she  had 
surely  left  the  prairie  world  forever.  They  spent  the 
best  part  of  the  morning  together.  Then  Nevil 
came  in  for  his  dinner.  When  he  beheld  the  girl, 
fair  and  deliciously  fresh  in  her  old  prairie  habit,  sit- 
ting on  the  bed  in  the  hut,  a  wave  of  devilish  joy 
swept  over  him.  He  already  knew  that  she  had  re- 
turned to  the  farm — how,  it  would  have  been  impos- 
sible to  say — but  that  she  should  still  come  to  his 
shack  seemed  incredible. 

Evidently  Seth  had  held  his  tongue.  Though  he 
wondered  a  little  uneasily  at  the  reason,  he  was  quick 
to  see  his  advantage  and  the  possibilities  opening  be- 
fore him.     He  had  passed  from  the  stage  when  he 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS  249 

was  content  to  avail  himself  of  chance  opportunities. 
Now  he  would  seek  them — he  would  make  opportu- 
nities 

*'  And  so  you  have  come  back  to  us  again,'  he 
said,  after  greeting  the  girl,  while  Wanaha  smiled 
with  her  deep  black  eyes  upon  them  from  the  table 
beyond  the  stove. 

"  Couldn't  stay  away  "  the  girl  responded  lightly. 
"  The  prairie's  in  my  bones  " 

Rosebud  had  never  liked  Nevil.  To  her  there  was 
something  fish-like  in  those  pale  eyes  and  overshot 
jaw,  but  just  now  everybody  connected  with  the  old 
life  was  welcome.  They  chatted  for  a  while,  and 
presently,  as  Wanaha  began  to  put  the  food  on  the 
table,  the  girl  rose  to  depart. 

"  It's  time  I  was  getting  home,"  she  said  reluc- 
tantly. "  I'm  not  sure  that  they  know  where  I  am, 
so  I  mustn't  stay  away  too  long — after  the  scrape  I 
got  into  months  ago.  I  should  like  to  go  across  to 
the  Reservation,  but  I've  already  promised  not  to  go 
there  alone.  Seth  warned  me  against  it,  and  after 
what  has  passed  I  know  he.'s  right.  But  I  would  like 
to  see  Miss  Parker,  and  dear  old  Mr.  Hargreaves. 
However,  I  must  wait." 

Nevil  crossed  over  to  the  table.  He  looked  serious. 
but  his  blue  eyes  shone. 

"  Seth's  quite  right.  You  mustn't  go  alone.  Lit- 
tle Black  Fox  is  about  again,  you  know  And — and 
the  people  are  very  restless  just  now." 

"  That's  what  he  said.     And  I  nearly  frightened 


250      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

auntie  to  death  telling  her  she'd  get  scalped,  and 
nonsense  like  that.'* 

Nevil  laughed  in  response. 

*•  If  you'd  like  to  go *'  he  began  doubtfully 

"  It  doesn't  matter." 

"  I  only  meant  I've  got  to  go  across  directly  after 
dinner.  I  could  accompany  you.  No  one  will  inter- 
fere with  you  while  I  am  there." 

Nevil  turned  to  his  food  with  apparent  indifference. 
Wanaha  stood  patiently  by.  Rosebud  was  tempted. 
She  wanted  to  see  the  Reservation  again  with  that 
strange  longing  which  all  people  of  impulse  have  for 
revisiting  the  scenes  of  old  associations  Always  she 
was  possessed  by  that  curious  fascination  for  the 
Indian  country  which  was  something  stronger  than 
mere  association,  something  that  had  to  do  with  the 
long  illness  she  had  passed  through  nearly  seven 
years  ago. 

Nevil  waited.  He  knew  by  the  delay  of  her 
answer  that  she  would  accept  his  invitation,  and  he 
wanted  her  to  go  over  to  the  Reservation. 

*'  Are  you  sure  1  shan't  be  in  the  way?  Sure  I'm 
not  troubling  you  ?  " 

Nevil  smiled. 

*  By  no  means.  Just  let  me  have  my  dinner,  and 
ril  be  ready,  I've  half  a  dozen  cords  ot  wood  to 
haul  into  Beacon,  and  I  have  to  go  and  borrow  ponies 
for  the  work.  The  roads  are  so  bad  just  now  that 
my  own  ponies  couldn't  do  it  by  themselves." 

Rosebud's  scruples  thus  being  quieted  she  returned 


i 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS  251 

to  her  seat  on  the  bed,  and  they  talked  on  while  the 
man  ate  his  dinner.  She  watched  the  almost  slavish 
devotion  of  Wanaha  with  interest  and  sympathy,  but 
her  feelings  were  all  for  the  tall,  beautiful  woman. 
For  the  man  she  had  no  respect.  She  tolerated  him 
because  of  her  friend  only. 

A.n  hour  later  they  were  on  the  Reservation.  And 
they  had  come  by  way  of  the  ford.  Rosebud  was  all 
interest,  and  everything  else  was  forgotten,  even  her 
dislike  of  Nevil,  as  they  made  their  way  past  Little 
Black  Fox's  house,  and  through  the  encampment 
of  which  it  was  the  centre  She  was  still  more  de- 
lighted when  her  companion  paused  and  spoke  to 
some  of  the  Indians  idlmg  about  there.  She  was 
tree  to  watch  the  squaws,  and  the  papooses  she 
loved  so  well.  The  little  savages  were  running  wild 
about  the  tepees,  dodging  amongst  the  trailers  and 
poles,  or  trolicking  with  the  half-starved  currish 
camp  dogs.  The  air  was  busy  with  shrieks  of  de- 
light, and  frequently  through  it  all  could  be  detected 
the  note  of  small  ferocity,  native  to  these  little  red- 
skinned  creatures. 

It  was  all  so  familiar  to  her,  so  homely,  so  different 
from  that  other  life  she  had  just  left.  The  past  few 
months  were  utterly  forgotten  ;  she  was  back  in  her 
old  world  again.  Back  in  the  only  world  she  really 
knew  and  loved. 

It  came  as  no  sort  ot  surprise  to  her,  when,  in  the 
midst  of  this  scene,  the  great  chief  himself  appeared. 
He  came  alone  ,    without  ceremony  Ot  attendants 


252       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

He  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  clearing — tall,  command- 
ing,  and  as  handsome  as  ever.  His  dusky  face  was 
wreathed  in  a  proud,  half  disdainful  smile.  He  did 
not  attempt  to  draw  near,  and,  except  for  a  haughty 
inclination  of  the  head,  made  no  sign. 

Rosebud  had  no  suspicion.  She  had  no  thought 
of  the  man  with  her.  She  was  far  too  interested  in 
aJl  she  saw  to  wonder  how  the  chief  came  to  be  in 
the  midst  of  the  clearing  just  as  she  was  passing 
through  it. 

On  the  far  side  of  the  camp  a  path  led  to  the 
Agency.  Its  course  was  tortuous,  winding  in  the 
shape  of  the  letter  S.  It  was  at  the  second  curve 
that  an  unexpected,  and  to  Nevil,  at  least,  unwelcome 
meeting  occurred. 

Seth,  mounted  on  his  own  tough  broncho,  was 
standing  close  against  the  backing  of  brush  which 
lined  the  way.  He  had  every  appearance  of  havmg 
been  awaiting  their  coming  Nevil's  furtive  eyes 
turned  hither  and  thither  with  the  quick  glance  of  a 
man  who  prefers  a  safe  retreat  to  a  bold  encounter 

Rosebud  looked  serious,  and  thought  of  the  scold 
ing  that  might  be  forthcoming.     Then  she  laughed 
and  urged  her  horse  quickly  forward. 

"  Why,  Seth "  she  cried.     But  she  broke  ofi 

abrupdy.  The  rest  of  what  she  was  about  to  say 
died  out  of  her  mind.  Seth  was  not  even  looking  at 
her.  His  eyes  were  on  Nevil  Steyne  in  a  hard,  cola 
stare.  Physically  weak  as  he  was  there  could  be  nC' 
mistaking  the  utter  hatred  conveyed  in  that  look. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS  25  $ 

Rosebud  had  drawn  up  beside  him.  For  once  she 
was  at  a  loss,  helpless.  Nevil  was  some  ten  yards  in 
rear  of  her.  There  was  a  moment's  silence  after  the 
girl's  greeting,  then  Seth  said  quite  sharply  — 

"You  stay  right  here." 

He  urged  his  horse  forward  and  went  to  meet 
Nevil.  The  girl  was  very  anxious,  hardly  knowing 
why.  She  heard  Seth's  voice  low  but  commanding. 
His  words  were  lost  upon  her,  but  their  effect  was 
plain  enough.  Nevil  first  smiled  contemptuously, 
then  he  paled  and  finally  turned  his  horse  aboul, 
and  slowly  returned  the  way  he  had  come. 

Then,  and  not  until  then,  Rosebud  observed  chat 
Seth  was  grasping  the  butt  of  his  revolver. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ROSEBUD'S   FORTUNE 

Something  of  the  old  spirit  seemed  to  have  gone 
out  of  Rosebud  when  Seth  rode  back  to  her,  A 
strange  fascination  held  her ;  and  now,  as  he  came 
up,  she  had  no  thought  of  questioning  him,  no  de 
sire.  She  was  ready  to  obey.  She  watched  the 
emaciated  figure  as  it  drew  near  with  eyes  that  told 
a  story  which  only  he  could  have  misinterpreted. 
She  was  ready  for  a  scolding,  a  scolding  which  she 
felt  she  merited.  But  Seth  made  no  attempt  to 
blame  her.  And  this  very  fact  made  her  wish  that 
he  would. 

*  Say,  Rosie,  gal,  I  guess  we'll  be  gettin'  back," 
he  said,  in  a  manner  which  suggested  that  they  had 
been  out  together  merely,  and  that  it  was  time  for 
returning. 

"  Yes,  Seth.'^ 

There  was  unusual  humility  in  the  reply  It  may 
have  been  that  the  girl  remembered  that  scene  in 
the  woods  so  many  months  ago.  Perhaps  the  scene 
she  had  just  witnessed  had  told  her  something  that 
no  explanations  could  have  made  so  clear,  Seth 
was  always  the  dominating  factor  in  their  inter- 
course, but  this  outward  submission  was  quite  for 
eign  to  the  girl 


J 


ROSEBUD'S  FORTUNE  255 

They  rode  ofF  together,  the  man's  horse  leading 
slightly.  Neither  spoke  for  a  while,  but  Rosebud 
noticed  that  almost  imperceptibly  they  had  branched 
off  and  were  heading  for  the  bridge  by  unfrequented 
by-paths  which  frequently  demanded  their  riding  in 
Indian-file, 

Seth  displayed  no  haste  and  no  inclination  to  talk, 
and  the  silence  soon  began  to  jar  on  the  girl.  It 
was  one  thing  foi  her  to  give  ready  obedience,  but 
to  be  led  like  some  culprit  marching  to  execution 
was  something  which  roused  her  out  of  her  docility. 
At  the  first  opportunity  she  ranged  her  horse  along- 
side her  companion's  and  asserted  her  presence. 

•'I  want  you  to  answer  me  a  question,  Seth/'  she 
said  quietly.     "  How  did  you  get  wounded?  " 

The  man's  face  never  relaxed  a  muscle,  but  there 
was  a  dryness  in  the  tone  of  his  reply. 

"  Guess  some  bussock  of  a  feller  got  monkeyin' 
with  a  gun  an'  didn't  know  a  heap." 

Rosebud  favored  him  with  a  little  knowing  smile. 
They  were  still  amidst  the  broken  woodlands,  and 
she  was  quick  to  observe  her  companion's  swift- 
moving  eyes  as  they  flashed  this  way  and  that  in 
their  ceaseless  watchfulness. 

"  I'm  not  to  be  cheated.  Some  one  shot  at  you 
who  meant — business." 

"  Guess  I  ain't  aware  jest  how  he  hggered,  Rosie," 
A  smile  accompanied  Seth's  words  this  time. 

"Well,  who  did  it?" 

•'  1  never  seen  him  ;  so  1  can't  rightly  say.'' 


256      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  But  you  guess?" 

"  I  ain't  good  at  guessin'." 

The  girl  laughed. 

"Very  well,  I  won't  bother  you," 

Then  after  a  little  silence  the  man  spoke  again. 

"  Those  letters  of  yours  was  mortal  fine,"  he  said. 
"  Seems  to  me  I  could  most  find  my  way  around 
London,  with  its  stores  an'  nigglin'  trails.  It's  a 
t.ol'bie  city.     A  mighty  good  eddication,  travelin'." 

"  I  suppose  it  is."  Rosebud  seemed  to  have  lost 
her  desire  for  conversation. 

'*  Makes  you  think  some,"  Seth  went  on,  heedless 
of  the  girl's  abstraction.  "  Makes  you  feel  as  the 
sian  don't  jest  rise  and  set  on  your  own  p' tickler 
patch  o'  ploughin'.  Makes  you  feel  you're  kind  o' 
like  a  grain  o'  wheat  at  seedin'  time.  I  allow  a  man 
don't  amount  to  a  heap  noways." 

Rosebud  turned  on  him  wdth  a  bright  smile  in  her 
wonderful  eyes. 

"  That  depends,  Seth.  I  should  say  a  man  is  as 
he  chooses  to  make  himself.  I  met  a  lot  of  men  in 
England ;  some  of  them  were  much  better  than  oth- 
ers.    Some  were  extremely  nice." 

"Ah."  Seth  turned  his  earnest  eyes  on  the  girl's 
face.  He  lost  the  significance  of  the  mischievous 
down-turning  of  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  "  I  guess 
them  gilt-edge  folk  are  a  dandy  lot.  Y'  see  them 
*  lords'  an'  such,  they've  got  to  be  pretty  nigh  the 
mark." 

*'  Why.  yes.  I  suppose  they  have,'' 


ROSEBUD'S  FORTUNE  257 

There  was  another  brief  pause  while  the  man's 
eyes  glanced  keenly  about. 

'*  Maybe  you  mixed  a  deal  with  them  sort  o'  folk," 
he  went  on  presently. 

*'  Oh,  yes."     The  violet  eyes  were  again  alight 

"  Pretty  tidy  sort  o'  fellers,  eh  ?  " 

"  Rather.  I  liked  one  or  two  very  much — very 
much  indeed.  There  was  Bob — Bob  Vinceps,  you 
know — he  was  a  splendid  fellow.  He  was  awfully 
nice  to  me  Took  auntie  and  me  everywhere.  I 
wonder  how  he's  getting  on.  I  must  see  if  there's 
a  letter  from  him.  at  Beacon.  He  asked  me  if  he 
might  write.  And  wasn't  it  nice  of  him,  Seth  ?  He 
came  all  the  way  from  London  to  Liverpool  to  see 
me,  I  mean  us,  off.  It's  a  long  way — a  dreadful 
long  way '' 

"  Ah,  mebbe  when  I  go  into  Beacon  Crossing  I'll 
fetch  that  letter  out  for  you,  Rosie." 

But  Seth's  simple-heartedness — Rosebud  called  it 
"  stupidity," — was  too  much.  The  girl's  smile  van- 
ished in  a  second  and  she  answered  sharply. 

"  Thanks,  I'll  get  my  own  letters."  Then  she  went 
on  demurely.  "  You  see  if  there  happened  to  be  a 
letter  from  Bob  I  shouldn't  like  auntie  to  see  it.  She 
is  very — very' — well,  she  mightn't  like  it  " 

"How?" 

Seth  looked  squarely  into  the  face  beside  him. 

"She  thinks — well,  you  see,  she  says  I'm  very 
young,  and — and " 

*'  Ah.  I  tho't  mebbe  ther's  suthin'  agin  him.     You 


258      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

see,  Rosie,  ther'  mustn't  be  anythin'  agin  the  man 
you  marry.     He's  got  to  be  a  jo-dandy  dear  thro". 

"  But  I'm  not  going  to  marry  Lord  Vinceps,  you 
silly,  at  least — I  don't  think  so.  Besides,"  as  an 
afterthought,  *'  it's  nothing  to  you  who  I  marry." 

"Wal,  no.  Mebbe  that's  so,  only  ef  you'd  get 
hitched,  as  the  sayin'  is,  to  some  mule-headed  son 
of  a  gun  that  wa'n't  squar*  by  you,  I'd  git  around 
an'  drop  him  in  his  tracks,  ef  I  had  to  cross  the  water 
to  do  it" 

Rosebud  listened  with  a  queer  stirring  at  her  heart, 
yet  she  could  not  repress  the  impatience  she  felt  at 
the  calm  matter-of-fact  manner  in  which  the  threat 
was  made.  The  one  redeeming  point  about  it  was 
that  she  knew  one  of  Seth's  quiet  assurances  to  be 
far  more  certain,  far  more  deadly,  than  anybody's  else 
wildest  spoken  threats.  However,  she  laughed  as 
she  answered  him. 

"Well,  you  won't  have  to  cross  ine  ocean  to  find 
the  man  I  marry.  I'm  not  going  to  England  again, 
except,  perhaps,  on  a  business  visit.  I  intend  to  stay 
here,  unless  Pa  and  Ma  turn  me  out." 

Seth  caught  his  breath.  For  a  second  his  whole 
face  lit  up. 

"Say,  I  didn't  jest  take  you  right/'  he  said 
"You're  goin'  to  stay  right  here?" 

Rosebud  gave  a  joyous  little  nod.  She  had  stirred 
Seth  out  of  his  usual  calm.  There  was  no  mistaking 
the  light  in  his  hollow  eyes.     He  made  no  move- 


ROSEBUD'S  FORTUNE  259 

ment;  he  spoke  as  quietly  as  ever,  but  the  girl  saw 
something  in  his  eyes  that  set  her  heart  beating  like 
a  steam  hammer.  The  next  moment  she  was  chilled 
as  though  she  had  received  a  cold  douche. 

"Wal,  I'm  sorry,"  he  went  on  imperturbably. 
"  Real  sorry.  Which  I  mean  lookin'  at  it  reas'nable. 
'Tain't  right.  You  belong  ther'.  Ther's  your  folk 
an'  your  property,  an'  the  dollars.  You  jest  ought 
to  fix  up  wi'  some  high  soundin'  feller " 

"Seth,  mind  your  own  business!" 

Rosebud's  exasperation  broke  all  bounds.  If  a 
look  could  have  withered  him  Seth  would  have 
shriveled  to  bare  bones.  The  next  moment  the  girl's 
(ips  trembled  and  two  big  tears  rolled  slowly  down 
her  cheeks.  She  urged  her  horse  ahead  of  her  com- 
panion and  kept  that  lead  until  they  had  crossed  the 
bridge.  Seth's  eyes,  busy  in  every  other  direction, 
had  failed  to  witness  her  distress,  just  as  he  failed  to 
take  any  heed  of  her  words. 

"  You  see,  Rosie,  ther's  a  heap  o'  trouble  comin' 
along  here,"  he  said  presendy,  when  he  had  drawn 
level. 

"  Yes,"  the  girl  replied,  without  turning  her  head  ; 
*and  I'm  going  to  stay  for  it.  Auntie  can  go  back 
when  she  likes,  but  this  is  my  home,  and — Seth,  why 
do  you  always  want  to  be  rid  of  me?" 

Seth  remained  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  spoke 
tn  a  voice  that  was  a  little  unsteady. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  rid  of  you,  Rosie.  No  ;  I'm 
•'^t  thinkin'  of  you,"  he  added. 


26o      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

The  old  impulsive  Rosebud  was  uppermost  in  an 
instant.  She  turned  on  him,  and  reached  out  a  hand 
which  he  took  in  both  of  his. 

"  Seth,  you  are  a  dear,  and  I'm  sorry  for  being  so 
rude  to  you.  Ifs  always  been  like  this,  hasn't  it? 
You've  always  thought  of  me,  for  me.  I  wish,  some- 
times, you  wouldn't  think — for  me." 

She  withdrew  her  hand,  and,  touching  her  horse 
with  her  heel,  galloped  on  toward  the  farm,  leaving 
Seth  to  come  on  behind.  She  gave  him  no  chance 
of  overtaking  her  this  time. 

Supper-time  brought  a  lively  scene  with  it  Rose- 
bud, for  some  unexplained  reason,  was  in  a  more 
than  usually  contradictory  mood.  Mrs=  Rickards 
had  thoroughly  enjoyed  her  day  in  spite  nf  the  sloppy 
condition  of  everything  outside  the  house.  She  was 
a  woman  who  took  a  deep  interest  in  life.  She  was 
worldly  and  practical  in  all  matters  which  she  con- 
sidered to  be  the  business  of  a  woman's  life,  but  her 
mental  vision  was  not  bounded  by  such  a  horizon. 

Everything  interested  her,  provided  her  personal 
comfort  was  not  too  much  disturbed.  The  farm  was 
strange,  new,  and  as  such  was  welcome,  but  Ma 
Sampson  was  a  study  which  fascinated  her.  She 
was  in  the  best  of  spirits  when  the  little  family  gath- 
ered for  the  evening  meal.  This  had  been  much 
elaborated  by  Ma  in  her  visitors'  honor. 

At  this  repast  came  her  first  real  chance  of  observ- 
ing Seth.  She  studied  him  for  some  time  in  silence 
while  the  others  talked.     Then  she  joined  in  the  con 


ROSEBUD'S  FORTUNE  261 

versation  herself,  and  quickly  contrived  to  twist  it 
into  the  direction  she  required. 

They  were  laughing  over  Rosebud's  attempt  to 
scare  her  cousin  with  her  threat  of  the  Indians. 

"  You  see,  auntie,"  the  girl  said  roguishly,  "  you 
are  a  '  tenderfoot.'  It  is  always  the  privilege  of  '  old 
hands  ''  to  ridicule  newcomers.  In  your  world  there 
is  litde  for  you  to  learn.  In  ours  you  must  be  duly 
initiated." 

"  In  my  world  ? "  Mrs.  Rickards  smiled  and 
raised  her  eyebrows.  She  had  a  pleasant  smile 
which  lit  up  her  round  fat  face  till  she  looked  the 
picture  of  hearty  good-nature.  And  she  was  on  the 
whole  decidedly  good-natured.  Only  her  good- 
nature never  ran  away  with  her.  "  My  dear,  why 
not  your  world  also  ?  This  is  not  your  world  any 
longer." 

Ma  smiled  down  upon  the  teapot,  while  the  men 
waited  expectantly.  With  all  their  simplicity,  these 
people  understood  Rosebud  as  far  as  it  was  possible 
to  understand  her.  Without  appearing  too  keen, 
each  watched  the  violet  eyes  as  they  opened  wide 
and  wondering  by  upon  the  cousin. 

"Why,  auntie  !     I — I  don't  understand." 

'  You  belong  to  the  same  world  as  I  do.  Dakota 
no  longer  claims  you." 

"  You  mean — England."  Rosebud  laughed  ;  and 
at  least  three  people  understood  that  laugh. 

Mrs.  Rickards  turned  to  Ma. 

"  You   know,   Mrs.   Sampson,  Rosebud   has  never 


262      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

yet  regarded  her  position  seriously.  She  is  curiously 
situated — but  pleasantly,  if  she  will  only  enter  into 
the  spirit  of  her  father's  will.  Has  she  told  you  about 
it?" 

Ma  shook  her  head.  The  men  went  on  with  their 
meal  in  silence.  At  this  point  the  subject  of  her 
aunt's  talk  broke  in. 

"  Go  on,  auntie,  you  tell  the  story.  You  are  the 
prosecution,  I  am  the  defendant,  and  these  are  the 
judges.  I'll  have  my  say  last,  so  fire  ahead."  There 
was  a  look  of  determination  in  the  girl's  eyes  as  she 
laughingly  challenged  her  aunt. 

Mrs.  Rickards  smiled  indulgently. 

"  Very  well,  my  dear  ;  but  for  goodness'  sake  don't 
be  so  slangy.  Now  Mrs.  Sampson  and — gentlemen 
of  the  jury.  Is  that  right,  Rosie  ?  "  The  girl  nodded, 
and  her  aunt  went  on.  "  You  must  quite  understand 
I  am  entirely  disinterested  in  Rosie's  affairs.  My 
only  interest  is  that  I  have  found  it  possible  to — er — 
tolerate  this  madcap,  and  she  has  found  it  possible 
to  put  up  with  me  ;  in  fact  I  am  her  nominal  guard- 
ian— by  mutual  choice." 

"You've  hit  it  dead  centre,  auntie,"  interrupted 
the  girl  mischievously. 

"  Don't  interrupt  or — I'll  clear  the  court.  Well, 
the  chiM  comes  to  me  fresh  from  the  prairie.  She  is 
good  as  good  can  be  ;  but  she  is  quite  helpless  in  her 
new  life.  And  more  than  this  she  is  burdened — I  say 
it  advisedly — with  great  wealth  under,  what  I  con- 
sider, an  extraordinary  will.     How  the  colonel  came 


ROSEBUD'S  FORTUNE  263 

to  make  such  a  will  I  cannot  understand.  The  only 
thing  I  can  think  of  is  that  when  that  will  was  made 
he  feared  there  might  be  some  person  or  persons, 
possibly  relatives,  into  whose  hands  she  might  fall, 
when  she  was  young,  and  who  might  misuse  her  for- 
tune. This  is  surmise.  Anyway,  after  providing  for 
her  mother  he  leaves  everything  to  Rosebud.  But 
the  legacv  is  not  to  take  effect  until  the  day  she 
marries. 

"  Further,  the  property  left  to  her  mother  devolved 
upon  her  at  her  mother's  death.  This,  of  course, 
she  has  already  inherited  ;  the  rest  still  remains  in 
trust.  Now,  of  course,  as  the  child's  social  mother, 
it  is  my  first  duty  to  watch  the  men  with  whom  she 
comes  into  contact.  I  have  given  her  every  oppor- 
tunity to  meet  the  most  eligible  bachelors.  Men  of 
title  and  wealth.  Men  who  cannot  possibly  be 
charged  with  fortune-hunting.  What  is  the  result  ? 
She  sends  them  all  to  the  right-about.  She  is  posi- 
tively rude  to  them — little  barbarian.  And  the  others 
— the  undesirables — well,  she  just  encourages  them 
outrageously," 

"  Oh,  auntie  ! " 

"  Wait  a  minute.  The  prosecution  has  not  done 
vet.  Now,  Mrs.  Sampson,  I  ask  you,  what  am  I  to 
do  ?  The  truth  is  she  can  marry  whom  she  pleases. 
1  have  no  power  over  her.  I  feel  sure  she  will  throw 
herself  away  on  some  dreadful,  undesirable  fortune- 
hunter.  She  is  in  such  a  position  that  no  poor  man 
can  ask  her  to  many  him  without  becoming  a  for- 


264      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

tune-hunter.  Why,  out  of  all  the  people  she  has  met 
since  she  has  been  with  me,  who  do  you  think  she 
encourages?  Quite  the  worst  man  I  know.  Lord 
Vinceps.  He's  a  peer,  I  know  ;  but  he's  poor,  and 
up  to  his  neck  in  debts.     She  is  a  great  trial." 

She  smiled  fondly  at  the  girl  whose  shortcomings 
were  causing  her  so  much  anxiety.  But  there  was 
no  answering  smile  to  meet  hers.  Rosebud's  face 
was  serious  for  once,  and  her  beautiful  eyes  quite 
cold.  Mrs.  Rickards  had  addressed  herself  to  Ma, 
but  the  girl  knew  well  enough,  and  resented  the  fact, 
that  her  words  were  meant  for  another  Rube  and 
Seth  still  remained  silent.  But  the  impeachment  was 
not  allowed  to  pass  unchallenged.  Rosebud  was  up 
in  arms  at  once. 

"  About  Lord  Vinceps,  auntie  ;  you  know  that  is 
all  nonsense.  I  don't  care  if  I  never  see  him  again. 
I  understood  him  within  five  minutes  of  our  meeting. 
And  that  understanding  would  never  permit  me  to 
think  twice  about  him.  He  is  a  cheerful  companion  ; 
but — no,  auntie,  count  him  out.  As  for  the  others — 
no,  thanks.  The  man  I  marry  will  have  to  be  a  man, 
some  one  who,  when  I  do  wrong,  can  figuratively 
take  me  across  his  knee.  The  man  I  marry  must  be 
my  master,  auntie.  Don't  be  shocked.  I  mean  it. 
And  I  haven't  met  such  a  man  under  your  roof.  You 
see  all  my  ideas  are  savage,  barbarous." 

The   girl   paused.     Ma's   smile    had    broadened 
Rosebud  had  not  changed.     Rube  listened  in  open- 
mouthed  astonishment.     He  was  out  of  his  deoth 


ROSEBUD'S  FORTUNE  265 

but  enjoying  himself.     Seth  alone   gave  no  sign  of 
approval  or  otherwise. 

"  Now,  look  here,  auntie,"  Rosebud  had  gathered 
herself  together  for  a  final  blow.  One  little  hand  was 
clenched,  and  it  rested  on  the  edge  of  the  table  ready 
to  emphasize  her  words.  "  I  do  regard  my  position 
seriously.  But  I  have  to  live  my  life  myself,  and  will 
not  be  trammeled  by  any  conventions  of  your  social 
world.  I'll  marry  whom  I  please,  because  I  want  to, 
and  not  because  the  world  says  I  ought  to  do  so. 
Rest  assured,  I  won't  marry  any  fortune-hunter.  The 
man  I  marry  I  shall  be  able  to  love,  honor,  and  obey, 
or  I'll  not  marry  at  all." 

The  girl  suddenly  rose  from  her  seate  Her  color 
heightened.  There  was  something  in  her  manner 
that  kept  her  aunt's  eyes  fixed  upon  her  in  wonder- 
ing anticipation.  She  watched  her  move  round  the 
table  and  lean  over  and  kiss  Ma  on  the  crown  of  the 
head,  and  then  pass  on  to  Rube,  round  whose  neck 
she  gently  placed  her  arms.  Thus  she  stood  for  a 
second  looking  smilingly  over  the  great  rough  head 
across  at  Ma,  who,  like  the  others,  was  wondering 
what  was  coming. 

"  Furthermore  I  am  not  going  back  to  England 
any  more  unless  I  am  turned  out  of  here.  You 
won't  turn  me  out,  Pa,  will  you  ?  "  She  bent  down 
and  softly  rubbed  her  cheek  against  Rube's  bristling 
face. 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Then  Mrs.  Rickards 
broke  in  weakly. 


266      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

**  But — but  your — property  ?  " 

**  I  arranged  that  with  Mr.  Irvine  before  I  came 
out.  It's  no  use,  auntie,  I  am  quite  determined. 
That  is — you  won't — you  won't  turn  me  out.  Pa, 
will  you?  I'll  be  so  good.  I'll  never  do  anything 
wrong,  and  I'll — I'll  even  hoe  potatoes  if  any  one 
wants  me  to." 

The  girl's  laughing  eyes  shot  a  mischievous  glance 
in  Seth's  direction.  Rube  raised  one  great  hand  and 
drew  her  face  to  his  and  kissed  her. 

"  Guess  this  is  your  home  if  you've  a  notion  to  it, 
Rosie,  gal.     Guess  Ma  wants  you,  jest  as  we  all  do." 

Ma  nodded  and  beamed  through  her  glasses. 
Seth  smiled  in  his  slow  fashion. 

"  An'  I  guess  I  ain't  bustin'  fer  you  to  hoe  p'taters 
neither,"  he  said. 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Rickards  looked  about  her 
helplessly ;  she  hardly  knew  what  to  say.  Then,  at 
last,  she,  too,  joined  in  the  spirit  which  pervaded  the 
party 

"  Well,  you  are  the  strangest  creature — but  there, 
I  said  you  were  a  little  savage,  and  so  did  Mr.  Seth." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

IN  WHICH   THE   UNDERCURRENT   BELIES    THE 
SUPERFICIAL   CALM 

The  snow  is  gone,  and  the  earth  is  passing  through 
a  process  of  airing.  The  sun  licks  up  the  moisture 
like  some  creature  |X>ssessed  of  an  unquenchable 
thirst.  Wherever  it  is  sufficiently  dry  the  settlers  are 
already  at  work  seeding.  Some  are  even  breaking 
virgin  soil,  or  turning  over  old  ploughing.  There  is 
an  atmosphere  of  leisurely  industry  about  the  plains. 
Even  in  these  unsettled  regions  work  goes  forward 
with  precision.  The  farmer's  life  is  one  of  routine 
with  which  he  permits  nothing  to  interfere.  He  lives 
by  the  fruits  of  the  earth  which  ripen  in  due  season. 
If  fortune  favors  him  he  reaps  the  har\'est.  What- 
ever his  lot  he  must  accept  it.  The  elements  rule 
his  life.  The  Indians  may  or  may  not  disorganize 
the  process. 

The  folk  on  White  River  Farm  are  in  no  way  be- 
hind their  neighbors.  Seth's  returning  strength  per- 
mits him  to  take  his  share  in  the  work,  and  thus  Rube 
finds  his  burden  lightened.  But  only  partially^  for 
Seth  has  much  else  to  do,  or  seems  to  have,  for  he 
has  many  comings  and  goings  which  take  up  time. 

Mrs.  Rickards  is  still  staying  on  at  the  farm.  She 
thoroughly  enjoys  this  new,  simple  life.     Besides,  in 


268       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

the  brief  fortnight  which  has  elapsed  since  her  com- 
ing, she  has  learnt  something  of  the  true  worth,  the 
wonderful  kindliness  and  honesty  of  these  frontier- 
folk. 

Even  Seth,  whom  at  first  she  was  less  certain 
about,  she  has  learned  to  look  upon  with  favor.  His 
silent,  direct  fashion  of  going  through  his  daily  life 
has  given  her  an  inkling  of  qualities,  which,  if  not  alto- 
gether companionable,  show  a  manliness  she  has 
not  always  been  accustomed  to. 

Her  change  of  opinion  found  vent  one  night  at 
bedtime.  Rosebud  listened  to  the  worldly-wise 
woman's  remarks  with  a  glow  of  pleasure  and  pride. 

"  Seth  is  a  queer  fellow,  Rosie,  so  darkly  reticent 
and  all  that,"  she  said,  with  a  thoughtful  smile.  "  Do 
you  know  I  sometimes  think  if  1  were  in  great  danger 
— personal  danger,  you  know — he's  the  sort  of  man 
I'd  like  to  have  about.  He  gives  me  the  impression 
of  a  great  reserve  of  strength.  He  is  what  one 
might — well,  what  you  would  call  a  '  man.'  " 

Rosebud  added  her  word  without  the  least  hesi- 
tation. 

''  He's  more  than  that,  auntie  ;  he's  the  bravest  and 
best  man  in  the  world," 

"  Just  so,  my  dear  ;  and  in  consequence  you  don't 
want  to  return  to  England,"  Mrs.  Rickards  said 
slyly. 

Rosebud  encountered  the  glance  which  accom- 
panied the  words.  She  shook  her  head  with  a  little 
despairing  gesture. 


UNDERCURRENT  BELIES  CALM         269 

'  But  he  loves  me  only  as  a  sort  of  daughter." 

*'  Does  he,  my  dear  ?  " 

Mrs.  Rjckards'  tone  was  quite  incredulous ;  she 
was  at  home  in  matters  of  love  and  marriage. 

The  object  of  all  this  thought  went  about  bliss- 
fully unconscious  of  the  heart  stirrings  he  was  caus- 
ing. Every  moment  of  his  life  was  full — full  to  the 
brim  and  even  overflowing.  There  was  not  a  setder 
in  the  district  whom  he  had  not  visited  during  the 
fortnight.  And  his  business  was  with  the  men 
alone. 

The  result  of  his  visits  would  have  been  visible 
to  the  eye  of  only  the  most  experienced.  Work 
went  on  the  same  as  before,  but  there  were  many 
half  hours  which  might  have  been  spent  in  well- 
earned  idleness  now  devoted  by  the  men  to  a  quiet, 
undemonstrative  overhauling  of  their  armory. 

As  it  was  at  these  outlying  farms  so  it  was  at 
White  River.  In  the  short  twilight  of  evening  Rube 
and  Seth  would  wander  round  their  buildings  and 
the  stockade,  noting  this  defect,  suggesting  this 
alteration,  or  that  repair.  All  their  ideas  were  basea 
on  the  single  thought  of  emergency.  Large  supplies 
of  cord-wood  were  brought  in  and  stacked  on  the 
inner  side  of  the  stockade,  thus  adding  to  its  powers 
of  resistance.  Every  now  and  then  Ma  would  re- 
ceive casually  dropped  hints  on  the  subject  of  her 
storeroom.  A  large  supply  of  ammunition  arrived 
from  Beacon  Crossing.  Many  cases  of  tinned  pro- 
visions came  along,  and  Ma,  wondering,  took  thero 


270      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

in  without  question  or  comment  at  the  time.  Latei 
in  the  day  when  she  happened  to  find  Seth  alone 
she  told  him  of  them,  adopting  a  casual  tone,  the 
tone  which  these  people  invariably  assumed  when 
the  signs  of  the  times  wore  their  most  significant 
aspect, 

"There  was  a  heap  of  canned  truck  come  from 
the  Crossing,  Seth,"  she  said.  "  I  laid  it  down  in 
the  cellars.     Maybe  you  sent  it  along?" 

And  Seth  replied — 

"  Why,  yes.  Ma.  I  figgered  we'd  like  a  change 
from  fresh  meat.  You  see  I  happened  along  to 
Beacon  Crossing,  an'  I  guessed  I'd  save  a  journey 
later." 

"  I  see." 

Ma's  bright  old  eyes  read  all  there  was  underlying 
her  boy's  words,  and  she,  like  the  rest,  continued 
steadily  on  w4th  her  work. 

So  the  days  crept  slowly  by.  Now  the  snow  and 
ice  were  gone,  and  the  tawny  hue  of  the  prairie  was 
tinged  with  that  perfect  emerald  of  budding  spring. 
The  woodlands  of  the  river  and  the  Reservation  had 
lost  their  barren  blackness.  The  earth  was  opening 
its  eyes  and  stretching  itself  after  its  months  of 
heavy  slumber.  Life  was  in  the  very  air  of  the 
plains.  The  whole  world  seemed  to  be  bursting 
with  renewed  life. 

Seth  was  now  restored  to  something  like  his  old 
self.  His  vigor  was  a  thing  to  marvel  at.  His 
regular  day's  work  was  only  a  tithe  of  what  he  did 


UNDERCURRENT  BELIES  CALM         271 

That  which  went  on  after  the  rest  of  the  household 
had  retired  to  rest  was  known  to  only  two  others. 
Rube  possessed  the  younger  man's  confidence,  and 
Jimmy  Parker  was  in  constant  communication  with 
him.  Seth  and  the  latter  worked  hand  in  hand  for 
the  common  welfare,  but  they  were  silent.  Each 
knew  the  character  of  the  dangers  which  ever  sur- 
rounded them.  Each  knew  that  an  absolute  silence 
and  apparent  indifTerence  were  the  only  means  of 
learning  the  plans,  the  meaning  of  the  furtive  un- 
rest of  the  warlike  Sioux.  All  that  they  learned 
was  carefully  stored  and  docketed  for  future  refer- 
ence. 

Parker's  responsibility  was  official.  Seth's  was 
voluntary  and  humanitarian.  Now  he  had  a  double 
incentive.  Rosebud  was  in  danger.  He  knew  that 
he  alone  stood  between  her  and  the  treacherous 
machinations  of  Nevil  Steyne,  and  the  lawless  pas- 
sion of  an  unscrupulous  savage.  He  dared  not 
spare  himself.  He  must  know  of  every  movement 
on  the  Reservation.  He  quite  understood  the  men 
he  was  dealing  with.  He  knew  the  motive  of  each. 
All  he  hoped  was  that  he  might  prove  himself  just  a 
shade  cleverer,  a  shade  quicker  in  emergency  when 
the  time  came  for  him  to  act. 

It  was  impossible,  however,  that  Seth  should  leave 
the  house  night  after  night  and  no  member  of  the 
household  be  the  wiser.  Oddly  enough  it  was  Mrs. 
Rickards'  maid  who  discovered  his  movements. 
She,   with  a  discretion  which  a  confidential  servant 


272       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

may  always  be  expected  to  possess,  whispered  her 
discover}^  to  her  mistress,  and  her  mistress  was  not 
slow  in  drawing  Rosebud's  attention.  As  they  were 
retiring  one  night  she  told  the  girl  of  her  maid's 
discovery. 

"Janet  tells  me  that  Mr.  Seth  goes  out  every  night 
and  doesn't  return  till  two  or  three  in  the  morning, 
Rosie,"  she  said  abruptly,  as  she  was  preparing  for 
bed.  "  You  know  the  girl  sleeps  over  the  kitchen, 
and  some  nights  ago  she  saw  him  ride  off  from  the 
barn  in  the  moonlight.  Last  night  she  was  awake 
when  he  got  backo  It  was  daylight.  I  wonder 
where  he  goes?" 

Rosebud  responded  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  but 
with  a  quick  look  at  her  friend. 

"  I  wonder." 

Mrs.  Rickards  wondered  and  speculated  on,  but 
Rosebud's  manner  gave  her  no  encouragement,  and 
she  was  fain  to  let  the  matter  drop.  There  was  no 
malice  in  her  remarks,  but  a  very  profound  curiosity. 

Her  announcement  had  its  effect. 

The  next  night  Rosebud  did  not  go  to  bed  after 
retiring  to  their  room.  She  made  no  explanation, 
merely  telling  her  aunt  that  she  was  not  going  to  bed 
yet.  And  Mrs.  Rickards  nodded  a  comprehensive 
smile  at  her. 

The  girl  waited  a  reasonable  time  till  she  thought 
the  others  were  asleep,  then  she  crept  softly  down- 
stairs. She  went  into  the  kitchen,  but  it  was  dark 
and  empty.     The  parlor  was  also  in  darkness,  except 


UNDERCURRENT  BELIES  CALM  273, 

for  the  moonlight  pouring  in  through  the  window. 
But  as  she  stood  in  the  doorway,  peering  closely  into 
the  remoter  corners,  she  felt  a  cool  draught  playing 
upon  her  face.  Then  she  saw  that  the  door  opening 
on  the  verandah  was  open. 

She  walked  across  the  room,  and,  looking  out  on 
the  moonlit  scene,  was  promptly  greeted  by  a  low- 
growl  from  General.  The  next  moment  she  stepped 
out,  and  beheld  Seth's  tall  figure  leaning  against  one 
of  the  great  gate-posts  of  the  stockade,  while  General 
came  over  to  her  and  rubbed  his  keen  nose  against 
her  skirts. 

Just  for  a  moment  she  hesitated.  It  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  her  that  her  action  might  be  construed  into 
spying,  and  she  was  possessed  by  a  sense  of  shame 
at  the  bare  thought.  She  knew  that  she  was  not 
spying  in  the  baser  sense  of  the  word.  She  had  no 
doubts  of  Seth.  Instinct  told  her  why  he  was  out. 
She  had  come  to  find  out  the  facts,  but  not  by  spy- 
ing.    She  meant  to  question  him. 

She  felt  her  heart  thumping  in  her  chest  as  she 
stepped  quickly  across  the  verandah.  She  was  nerv- 
ous, and  a  strange  feeling  of  shyness  made  her  long 
to  turn  back  before  the  man  became  aware  of  her 
presence.  But  she  controlled  the  impulse,  and, 
though  feeling  herself  flush  in  the  cool  air  of  the 
night,  walked  bravely  on. 

She  believed  she  was  unobserved.  Her  slippers 
gave  out  no  sound,  but  as  she  came  within  a  few 
yards  of  the  still  figure,  the  man's  voice  greeted  her 


274      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Thought  you  was  abed,  Rosie." 

The  girl  started  at  the  sound.  Seth  had  not 
moved,  had  not  even  turned  his  head.  Then  she 
answered. 

"  How  did  you  know  I  was  here  ?  "  she  said  quickly. 

*'  Guess  I  heard  General  talkin'  to  you." 

She  was  at  his  side  now. 

"  But  you  never  looked  round  ?  " 

"  Ef  it  was  Rube,  I'd  have  heard  his  feet.  Ma  ain't 
wanderin'  around  o'  nights.  An'  I  guess  your  auntie 
ain't  bustin'  fer  a  moonlight  ramble.  It  didn't  need 
a  heap  o'  figgerin'," 

Rosebud  had  no  answer  ready.  The  argument 
was  so  simple. 

A  brief  silence  fell,  while  both  looked  out  across 
the  moonlit  plains  at  the  dark  line  of  distant  woods. 
There  was  a  slight  glow  in  the  sky  in  two  different 
directions.  One  was  away  over  the  Pine  Ridge  Res- 
ervation, the  other  was  nearer  at  hand,  but  on  the  far 
side  of  the  Rosebud  Reservation.  The  girl  saw  these 
things  and  they  held  her  silent.  Her  breathing  came 
quickly.  There  was  a  sensation  of  excitement  run- 
ning through  her  body.  She  knew  these  lights  were 
what  Seth  was  staring  at. 

The  man  stirred  at  last. 

"  Guess  you'd  best  git  back  to  bed,  Rosie,"  he 
said.  "  I'm  goin'  to  saddle  up  my  plug.  I'm  goin' 
to  ride  some." 

"Where  are  you  going?"  The  girl's  question 
came  with  a  little  nervous  energy. 


UNDERCURRENT  BELIES  CALM         275 

The  man  turned  upon  her  gravely. 

•'  I'm  meetin'  Parker  tonight,"  he  said  briefly. 

"What  for?"  The  violet  eyes  held  the  other's 
with  their  steady  gaze.  The  pretty,  irregular  face 
was  set  and  determined. 

Seth  moved.  Then  he  turned  away  to  glance  at 
the  lurid  reflection  in  the  sky.  Presently  his  eyes 
came  back  to  her  face, 

"It's  them,"  he  said,  indicating  the  reflected 
fires. 

"And  what  are  they?"  Rosebud's  voice  was 
quietly  commanding.  The  irresponsible  girl  had 
gone  from  the  woman  talking  now, 

"  Sun-dances.  They're  doin'  it  at  night  to  cover 
their  tracks.     The  Injuns  are  gettin'  wise.'' 

"  You  mean  ?  " 

There  was  no  avoiding  the  sharp,  direct  ques- 
tioning. 

"  We're  goin'  to  git  it,  and  when  it  comes  it'll  be 
— sudden.  Sudden  an'  bad.  It's  both  Reservations. 
All  of  'em." 

Rosebud  was  silent.  Her  wide  open  eyes  were  on 
the  lights,  but  her  thoughts  were  on  other  things, — 
so  many  other  things,  that  her  head  whirled.  At 
last  she  spoke  again,  in  a  tense,  nervous  manner. 

"  Tell  me  about  it.     Tell  me  all." 

Seth  shook  his  head. 

"  Ther'  ain't  a  deal." 

"Tell  me." 

"  See  you.  Rosie,  ef  I  go  out  o'  here  presently,  wiU 


276      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

you  jest  close  these  gates  an'  fix  'em  ?     An'  will  you 
be  up  to  open  'em  for  me  ?  " 

••  Yes.     But  tell  me,'' 

Seth  gazed  at  the  horizon  again. 

"As  1  said,  ther*  ain't  much,"  he  began  presently 
"  This  has  been  goin*  on  fer  days.  Ther's  Injuns  out 
most  every  night,  an'  they  are  lyin'  this  side  o'  the 
fort.  They're  all  about  it,  an'  them  soldier-fellers 
ain't  wise  to  it.  What's  more  we  darsen't  to  put  'em 
wise.  They're  li'ble  to  butt  right  in,  an'  then  ther' 
won't  be  any  stoppin'  them  pesky  redskins.  Y'  see 
ther's  only  a  handful  at  the  fort,  an'  the  Injuns  could 
eat  'em." 

"  Yes,  you  always  said  it  was  a  mistake  to  bluff 
with  soldiers  so  near  the  Reservation.  I  suppose  the 
Indians  resent  their  presence.     Is  that  it  ?  " 

"  Mebbe." 

"There's  another  reason  ?" 

"  Can't  righdy  say." 

Rosebud  knew  that  the  man  was  prevaricat- 
ing. 

She  stood  lost  in  thought  for  some  moments.  And 
as  she  thought  a  sudden  light  came  to  her.  She 
drew  closer  to  her  companion  and  laid  one  hand  on 
his  arm. 

"  I  think  I  see,  Seth,"  she  said,  and  then  became 
silent. 

The  man  moved,  and  his  action  was  almost  a  re- 
bulT.  That  touch  had  stirred  him.  The  gentle  pres- 
sure of  her  hand  sent  the  blood  coursing  through  his 


UNDERCURRENT  BELIES  CALM         277 

veins,  and  he  restrained  the  hot,  passionate  words 
that  sprang  to  his  lips  only  with  a  great  effort.  The 
girl  accepted  his  movement  as  a  rebuff  and  shrank 
away.     But  she  spoke  vehemently. 

"  If  I'd  only  thought — oh,  if  I'd  only  thought !  I 
should  have  known.  All  that  has  gone  before  should 
have  told  me.  It  is  my  coming  back  that  has  pre- 
cipitated matters."  Her  voice  had  sunk  to  a  low 
tone  of  humility  and  self-accusation.  "And,  Seth, 
now  I  understand  why  you  were  shot.  It  was  Little 
Black  Fox.  And  I,  fool  that  I  was,  dared  to  show 
myself  on  the  Reservation.  And  he  saw  me.  I 
might  have  known,  I  might  have  known." 

There  was  a  piteous  ring  in  her  low  tones.  Seth 
stirred  again,  but  she  went  on  desperately. 

"  Yes,  I  see  it  all.  A  descent  will  be  made  upon 
us,  upon  this  farm.  You  will  be  done  to  death  for 
me.     Ma  and  Pa,  and  auntie  and — and  you." 

She  paused,  but  went  on  again  at  once. 

"  Yes,  and  I  see  further  now.  I  see  what  you  have 
already  grasped.  They  have  these  scouts  out  around 
the  fort  to  watch.  When  it  comes  they  mean  to  cut 
the  soldiers  off.  There  w^ill  be  no  help  for  us.  Only 
--only  this  stockade.  Oh,  Seth,  how  can  you  for- 
give me  !  You  and  Pa  have  foreseen  all  this  trouble. 
And  you  have  prepared  for  it  all  you  can.  Is  there 
no  help  ?  Can  I  do  nothing  to  atone  for  what  I  have 
done  ?  You  stand  there  without  c.  word  of  blame 
for  me.  You  never  blame  me — any  of  you.  I  wish 
I  were  dead  !     Seth,  why  don't  you  kill  me  ?" 


2-]Z       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

But  as  the  girl's  hysterical  outburst  reached  its 
culminating  point,  Seth  regained  perfect  mastery  ot 
himself.  He  noted  the  rush  of  tears  which  followed 
her  words  with  a  pang  of  infinite  pity,  but  he  told 
himself  that  he  dare  not  attempt  to  comfort  her.  In- 
stead, his  calm  voice,  with  its  wonderful  power  of  re- 
assurance, fell  upon  the  stillness  of  the  night. 

"  Little  gal,  things  are  jest  as  they  must  be.  The 
blame  is  on  me  fer  not  bein'  quicker  an'  handier  wi* 
my  gun  when  I  had  the  chance.  But,  howsum, 
Parker's  a  hefty  man.  He  ken  think  an'  act  quick. 
We're  ready,  far  as  we  ken  be." 

Rosebud  dried  her  tears.  Never  in  her  life  had 
Seth  appeared  to  her  as  he  appeared  now.  The 
steady,  unruffled  purpose  of  the  man  exalted  him  in 
her  eyes  to  an  impossible  position.  Somehow  the 
feelings  he  roused  in  her  lifted  her  out  of  her  womanly 
weakness.  She,  too,  was  capable  of  great,  unswerv- 
ing devotion,  but  she  did  not  realize  it.  She  only 
felt  that  she,  too,  must  bear  her  part  in  whatever 
fortune  had  in  store  for  them.  She  would  range  her- 
self beside  this  man  and  share  in  his  success  or  fail- 
ure. If  it  were  to  be  failure  she  was  ready  to  die  at 
his  side.  If  it  were  success — a  great  exultation 
swept  over  her  at  the  thought.  She  went  no  further. 
Success  at  his  side  would  be  worth — every- 
thing. 

"  Tell  me  what  I  can  do — anything  !  "  she  cried. 
Her  tone  was  low,  but  it  rang  with  a  note  the  man 
had  never  heard  in  it  before.     There  was  a  joy  in 


UNDERCURRENT  BELIES  CALM         279 

it  that  startled  him.  "  Seth,  I  believe — I  know — I 
want  to — to  fight.  My  blood  is  running  like  fire. 
Tell  me  what  I  am  to  do." 

It  was  a  few  moments  before  Seth  answered  her. 
He  was  thinking  hard.  He  knew  she  could  do  much. 
But  he  was  debating  with  himself.  A  great  pride 
was  his  as  he  contemplated  the  small  face  with  its 
wonderful  eyes  out  of  which  looked  such  steadfast 
courage.  He,  too,  thrilled  at  the  thought  of  fighting 
at  her  side,  but  he  tried  to  tell  himself  that  he  had  no 
right  to  ask  anything  of  her.  Perhaps  Rosebud  saw 
the  drift  of  his  thoughts  in  his  face,  for  she  gave  him 
no  chance  of  denial. 

"  Yes,  the  gates.  That's  all  right.  I  understand. 
Now,  what  else?  Can't  I  reconnoitre,  or — or  some- 
thing in  the  meantime  ?  " 

Her  enthusiasm  carried  the  day. 

"No,  I  guess  not.     But " 

"  Yes,  yes " 

"  See,  Rosie,  we  want  time.  I  kind  o'  think  it's  to- 
morrow. Parker  thinks  so  too.  So  does  Hargreaves. 
We  may'  be  wrong.  But — see  right  here,  I'm  due 
back  here  by  two  o'clock  sure.  If  I'm  not  here  by 
ten  minutes  after  ther's  this  you  ken  do.  Go  straight 
back  o'  the  barn  'bout  a  hundred  paces  ;  on  the  hill 
are  two  bunches  of  stuff  piled  up,  one's  wood,  t' other's 
dried  grass  an'  stuff.  You  go  right  out  an'  kindle 
'em  both.  They're  signals  to  the  settlers  around. 
Guess  ther's  eyes  watchin'  for  'em  at  every  farm. 
When  you  see  'em  burnin'  steady,  g^t  right  back  and 


28o      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

rouse  Rube  an'  Ma.     I'll  git  back  later — sure.     An* 
ther'U  be  others  with  me," 

**  Yes.     Anything  more  ?  " 

"  Nope.     I  'lows  I'll  saddle  up." 

They  walked  back  to  the  barn  in  silence.  Seth 
saddled  his  horse  and  brought  him  out.  Together 
they  walked  to  the  gate  of  the  stockade.  They  still 
remained  silent.  At  the  gate  the  man  mounted. 
Rosebud,  very  frail  looking  in  the  moonlight,  stood 
beside  him  smoothing  the  horse's  silky  neck.  Her 
face  was  anxious  but  determined.  Suddenly  she 
looked  up.  Her  great  eyes  were  full  of  appeal. 
There  was  no  wavering  in  her  gaze,  nothing  but  sin- 
cerity and  appeal. 

"Seth,  dear,"  she  said  in  a  steady  voice,  "be care- 
ful of  yourself — for  my  sake."  Then,  lowering  her 
gaze,  and  turning  to  the  distant  reflection  of  the  fires, 
"  Remember,  we  all  depend  on  you." 

"  I'll  remember,  Rosie,  gal,"  the  man  replied,  with 
a  tender  inflection  he  could  not  altogether  repress. 
"  So  long." 

The  horse  moved  away  with  General  at  its 
heels. 

For  a  long  time  Rosebud  stood  where  the  parting 
had  left  her.  Now  that  Seth  had  gone  she  was  a 
prey  to  every  womanly  anxiety.  And  her  anxiety 
was  solely  for  him.  None  of  those  peacefully  slumber 
ing  in  the  house  entered  into  her  thoughts.  Her 
care  was  for  this  one  man  ;  his  image  filled  her  heart. 
At  that  moment  hers  was  the  selfishness  of  a  maiden's 


UNDERCURRENT  BELIES  CALM         281 

first  great  love.     Even  in  her  anxiety  her  thoughts 
were  not  unhappy  ones. 

At  last  she  moved  away,  and  with  the  action  came 
a  desire  to  do.  Unknown  to  her  the  spirit  of  hei 
dead  father  and  mother  roused  within  her.  She  was 
a  woman,  gentle,  loving,  but  strong  with  an  in- 
vincible courage  which  had  been  handed  down  to 
her  from  those  two  brave  souls  of  whom  she  had  no 
recollection.  Time  would  prove  if  the  tragedy  of  the 
parents  should  fall  upon  the  child. 

Quietly  she  stole  up-stairs  to  her  bedroom.  Her 
cousin  was  still  sleeping  She  opened  a  chest  oi 
drawers  and  drew  out  an  old  leather  belt  filled  with 
ammunition,  and  bearing  two  holsters  containing  a 
pair  of  revolvers.  These  had  been  a  present  from 
Seth  in  the  old  days.  She  loaded  both  weapons,  and 
then  secured  them  about  her  waist.  Then  she 
closed  the  drawer,  and  crept  noiselessly  down-stairs 
again. 

She  made  her  way  out  into  the  moonlight.  Pass- 
ing out  of  the  stockade  she  located  the  exact  position 
of  the  beacon-fires.  The  forethought  in  their  ar- 
rangement pleased  her.  She  understood  that  the 
wood-fire  was  for  night,  and  the  grass  and  dung  for 
day  The  smoke  of  the  latter  would  be  easily  de- 
tected in  the  brightest  sunlight.  She  came  back  and 
barred  the  gates,  and  sat  out  on  the  verandah  with  a 
small  metal  clock  beside  her.     Thus  her  vigil  began. 

The  time  crept  by.  Twelve,  one,  two  o'clock 
Seth  had  not  returned.     She  gave  him  the  exact  ten 


282      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

minutes'  grace.  Then,  her  face  pale  and  a  little 
drawn  by  the  unaccustomed  strain,  she  went  out  and 
lit  the  beacons.  She  obeyed  implicitly.  There  was 
no  haste,  no  fear.  Her  heart  was  thumping  hard  in 
her  bosom  as  she  came  and  went,  but  it  was  not  with 
fear. 

Finally  she  roused  Rube  and  Ma.  Returning  to 
the  verandah  she  was  in  time  to  answer  a  sharp 
summons  at  the  gates.  To  her  dismay  she  dis- 
covered that  Seth  had  not  returned.  The  Agent 
and  Mr.  Hargreaves  had  brought  their  womenfolk. 
The  minister  greeted  the  girl  with  a  quiet  announce- 
ment which  lost  nothing  of  its  significance  by  the 
easy  manner  in  which  it  was  made 

"  They're  out,  Rosie,"  he  said.  And  a  moment 
later  the  gates  were  closed  behind  the  party. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  SUN-DANCE 

The  pale  moon  shone  down  upon  a  strange 
scene. 

Four  great  fires  marked  the  limits  of  a  wide  clear- 
ing. And  these  were  set  with  consummate  accuracy 
at  the  cardinal  points.  Superstition  demanded  this 
setting. 

The  ruddy  glow  threw  into  uncertain  relief  the 
faces  and  unkempt  figures  of  a  vast  concourse  of 
men  and  women  gathered,  in  one  great  circle,  within 
the  boundary  limits  of  the  fires.  On  the  faces  of  all 
was  an  expression  of  fierce  revelry.  A  dark  setting 
completed  the  picture.  Beyond  the  fires  all  was 
shadow,  profound,  ghostly.  The  woods  in  all  direc- 
tions closed  in  that  weird  concourse  of  beings,  and 
even  the  devilish  light  of  the  fires  could  not  relieve 
the  savagery  of  the  scene. 

Like  the  hub  of  a  gigantic  wheel,  in  the  midst  of 
the  circle  stood  a  cluster  of  leafless  trees,  mighty 
patriarchs,  gnarled  and  twisted,  with  great  overhang- 
ing limbs  as  stout  and  rugged  as  only  hoary  age  can 
make  them. 

The  clearing  inside  the  human  circle  was  empty 
for  a  time,  but  the  crowd  without  v^-as  momentarily 
increasing,  augmented  by  an    incessant  stream   of 


284      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

dusky,  silent  figures  pouring  from  the  adjacent 
forest  depths.  As  the  minutes  wore  on  the  human 
tide  slackened  ;  it  became  broken,  finally  it  ceased 
altogether.  Men,  women  and  children,  all  the  able- 
bodied  inhabitants  of  the  Rosebud  Reservation  had 
foregathered,  and  the  significance  of  the  gathering 
could  not  be  mistaken. 

Now  a  distant  murmur  comes  from  out  of  the 
blackness  of  the  woods.  At  first  it  is  low,  faint,  and 
without  character.  But  it  grows,  it  gains  in  power 
till  its  raucous  din  breaks  upon  the  waiting  multitude, 
and  immediately  a  responsive  murmur  rises  from  ten 
thousand  voices.  Those  who  hear  know  the  mean- 
ing of  the  discordant  noise.  The  "  med'cine  "  men 
of  the  tribe  are  approaching,  chanting  airs  which 
accord  with  their  "  med'cine,"  and  serve  at  the  same 
time  to  herald  the  coming  of  the  great  Sioux  chief, 
Little  Black  Fox. 

Nearer  and  nearer,  louder  and  louder.  All  eyes 
are  upon  the  black  fringe  of  the  forest  where  the  trees 
no  longer  have  power  to  obstruct  the  moonlight. 
And  of  a  sudden  a  number  of  writhing,  twisting 
figures  come  dancing  into  view. 

They  draw  nearer  to  the  expectant  throng.  Necks 
are  craned,  eyes  are  straining  to  watch  the  antics  so 
significant  to  these  creatures  of  superstition.  For 
have  not  these  strange  beings  power  to  invoke  the 
spirits,  to  drive  away  evil  influence  from  the  path  of 
him  whose  approach  they  herald  ? 

They  reach  the   clearing;    they   leap   within  the 


THE  SUX-DA^XE  285 

human  circle.  Their  painted  faces  are  distorted  with 
the  effort  of  their  wild  exertions  ;  their  befeathered 
heads  are  rendered  still  more  hideous  by  the  lurid 
blending  of  conflicting  lights.  Thirty  creatures, 
hardly  recognizable  as  human  beings,  dance  to  the 
accompaniment  of  a  strange  crooning  of  the  women 
onlookers  ;  to  the  beating  of  sad-toned  drums,  and 
the  harsh  scraping  of  stringed  instruments.  But  the 
dance  is  marked  by  a  distinct  time.  It  has  unmis- 
takable features  and  figures,  and  it  proceeds  to  its 
natural  finish  which  leaves  the  dancers  prostrate 
upon  the  ground,  with  their  faces  pressed  hard  into 
the  dusty  earth.     It  is  a  wild  scene. 

But  the  Sun-dance  has  only  begun.  There  is 
much  to  follow. 

Now  a  single  figure  moves  out  of  the  crowd,  and 
takes  its  position  in  the  arena.  It  is  the  young  chief. 
His  attitude  is  one  of  sublime  dignity.  His  erect 
figure  and  haughty  carriage  bear  the  indelible  stamp 
of  his  illustrious  forbears.  Silently  he  raises  one 
hand,  and  a  deathly  hush  falls  upon  his  people. 

And  Little  Black  Fox  speaks. 

Tall,  handsome,  lithe,  a  frame  of  great  bone  and 
smooth  sinewy  muscle,  he  is  an  imposing  figure. 
He  wears  no  blanket,  just  the  buckskm,  beaded  as 
becomes  his  high  rank. 

He  harangnes  mightily,  now  working  himself  into 
an  almost  uncontrolled  hiry,  again  letting  his  voice 
die  down  to  that  plaintive,  musical  note  which  alone 
belongs  to  the  Sioux  tongue.     And  his  speech  is  of 


286      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

war — wild,  fierce,  unreasonable  war,  such  as  his 
people  love.  He  is  thrilling  with  the  untamed  spirit 
of  his  ancestors,  and  every  word  he  utters  carries  a 
ready  conviction  to  the  untutored  souls  to  whom  it 
is  addressed. 

He  sweeps  on  in  a  torrential  flow  of  passion,  and 
those  who  listen  are  roused  at  once  to  a  savage  en- 
thusiasm. There  are  no  interruptions.  The  oration 
is  received  in  complete  silence.  These  are  Indians 
taken  into  their  sovereign's  council ;  they  are  there 
to  hear  while  the  young  brave  pronounces,  with  all 
the  fire  of  his  ardent,  aboriginal  nature,  the  doom  of 
their  white  masters. 

The  wise  men  of  the  council  are  grouped  together 
and  sit  aloof.  They  sit  like  mummies,  smoking,  and 
with  every  appearance  of  indifference.  But  their 
ears  are  wide  open.  One  alone  displays  interest, 
and  it  is  noticeable  that  he  is  different  from  all  the 
rest  of  the  aged  group.  He  is  younger.  He  has 
blue  eyes  and  fair  hair,  and  his  skin  is  pale.  Yet  he, 
too,  is  blanketed  like  his  companioiis.  He  listens 
acutely  to  the  end  of  the  speech.  Then  he  silently 
moves  away,  and,  unheeded,  becomes  lost  in  the 
adjacent  woods. 

As  the  chieftain's  last  words  die  away  the  men  of 
"  med'cine  "  rise  from  their  groveling  attitude  and  a 
fresh  dance  begins.  But  this  time  it  is  not  confined 
to  the  clearing.  It  is  one  which  launches  them  into 
the  midst  of  the  audience.  Hither  and  thither  they 
caper,  and  from  their  tracks  emerge  a  number  o^ 


THE  SUN-DANCE  287 

very  young  men.  It  might  be  that  this  is  the 
'  Dance  of  Selection,"  for  it  undoubtedly  has  the  re- 
sult of  bringing  forth  a  number  of  striplings  from 
the  ranks  of  the  onlookers. 

The  dancers  have  made  the  complete  circuit,  and 
about  one  hundred  young  men,  little  more  than  boys, 
join  in  the  great  Sun-dance. 

Now  ensues  one  of  the  most  terrible  scenes  of 
human  barbarity  conceivable.  In  the  course  of  the 
dance  the  "  med'cine  "  men  seize  upon  each  of  the 
willing  victims  in  turn.  On  the  breast  of  each  boy 
incisions  are  made  with  long,  keen  knives ;  two 
parallel  incisions  on  each  side  of  the  chest.  The 
flesh  between  each  two  of  these  is  then  literally  torn 
from  the  underlying  tissues,  and  a  rough  stick  is 
thrust  through  the  gaping  wounds.  So  the  would- 
be  brave  is  spitted. 

Now  a  rawhide  rope  is  attached  to  the  centre  of 
the  stick,  the  end  of  it  is  thrown  over  the  gnarled 
limb  of  one  of  the  trees  in  the  centre  of  the  clearing, 
and  the  youth  is  lifted  from  the  ground  and  remains 
suspended,  the  whole  weight  of  his  body  borne  by 
the  two  straps  of  bloody  flesh  cut  from  his  chest. 

The  dance  proceeds  until  each  youth  is  spitted 
and  suspended  from  the  central  cluster  of  trees,  chen, 
with  one  accord,  the  men  of  the  audience  break 
from  their  places  and  join  in  the  war-dance.  They 
dance, about  the  victims  with  a  fierce  glee  like  hun- 
dreds of  fiends  ;  they  beat  them,  they  slash  them 
with    knives,  they  thrust   lighted  brands  upon   the 


288      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

fresh  young  flesh  till  it  blisters  and  throws  out 
nauseous  odors.  Their  acts  are  acts  of  diabolical 
torture,  inconceivably  savage.  But  the  worst  agony 
is  endured  in  desperate  silence  by  each  victim.  That 
is,  by  all  but  one. 

Out  of  all  the  number  hanging  like  dead  men 
upon  the  trees  only  one  youth  finds  the  torture  un- 
endurable. 

He  cries  aloud  for  mercy,  and  his  shrieks  rise  high 
above  the  pandemonium  going  on  about  him. 

Instantly  he  is  cut  down,  the  stick  is  removed 
from  his  body,  and  he  is  driven  from  the  ceremony 
by  the  waiting  squaws,  amidst  a  storm  of  feminine 
vituperation.  He  is  the  only  one  whose  heart  is 
faint.  He  will  never  be  permitted  to  fight.  He 
must  live  with  the  squaws  all  his  days.  He  is  con- 
sidered a  squaw-man,  the  greatest  indignity  that  can 
be  put  upon  him. 

Thus  are  the  braves  made. 

While  the  Sun-dance  was  still  at  its  height  two 
men  who  had  taken  no  part  in  it,  except  that  of  secret 
spectators,  moved  quickly  and  silently  away  through 
the  forest.  Their  gait  was  almost  a  flight,  but  not 
of  fear. 

Ten  minutes  of  half  running  and  half  walking 
brought  them  to  a  spot  where  two  horses  were  teth- 
ered under  the  guardianship  of  the  fierce  General. 
Here  they  mounted,  and,  without  a  word,  proceeded 
with  all  speed  in  the  direction  of  the  Agency. 

At  the  door  they  halted,  and  Seth  spoke  fur  the 


THE  SUN-DANCE  289 

rirst  time  since  leaving  the  Sun-dance.  Parker  had 
already  dismounted,  but  the  other  remained  in  his 
saddle. 

"  Say,  you'll  move  right  off,"  he  said  quickly,  "  an' 
git  Hargreaves  an'  his  wimminfolk  clear,  too.  Guess 
you'll  make  the  farm  'fore  me,  sure.  Take  the  bridge 
for  it.  Rosebud  '11  let  you  in.  Guess  you'll  tind 
plenty  o'  company  'fore  daylight.  Rosie  '11  see  to 
the  signals." 

"Yes,"  Parker  nodded.  "They're  moving  to- 
night.    This  is  a  carefully  planned  surprise." 

Seth  glanced  at  the  eastern  sky. 

"  Four  hours  to  daylight,"  he  mused.  Then : 
"  Yes,  guess  there's  more'n  Black  Fox's  hand  in  this. 
So  long." 

He  rode  off  with  his  faithful  dog  at  his  heels,  mak- 
ing for  the  ford,  and  watchful  of  every  shadow  as  he 
went.     His  night's  work  was  yet  only  half  done. 

Crossing  the  river  he  climbed  the  opposite  bank 
and  rode  out  upon  the  prairie.  Making  a  wide 
detour  he  came  to  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the 
front  of  Nevil  Steyne's  hut.  Here  he  halted  and  dis- 
mounted. Crouching  upon  the  ground  he  scanned 
the  sky-line  carefully  in  every  direction.  At  last  he 
seemed  satisfied,  and,  flinging  his  bridle  reins  to  the 
dog,  who  promptly  took  them  in  his  powerful  jaws 
and  quiedy  sat  down  in  front  of  the  horse's  head, 
moved  cautiously  forward. 

In  a  few  moments  he  came  upon  two  horses  stand 
ing   asleep,  tethered   by  long  ropes  to  picket-pins 


290      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

One  of  these  he  released  and  led  back  to  his  own. 
Then  he  remounted  and  rode  on.  Again  he  circled 
wide  of  his  destination,  and  this  time  struck  into  the 
woods  that  lined  the  river.  His  way  now  lay  down 
the  black  aisles  of  tree  trunks  which  he  pursued  until 
he  came  to  a  spot  he  was  evidently  in  search  of. 
Then  he  again  dismounted,  and,  entrusting  the  two 
horses  to  the  dog's  care,  moved  forward  on  foot. 

With  unerring  judgment  he  broke  cover  directly 
in  rear  of  Nevil's  log  hut.  There  was  neither  win- 
dow nor  door  on  this  side,  a  fact  which  he  was  evi- 
dently aware  of,  for,  without  hesitation,  but  with 
movements  as  silent  as  any  Indian,  he  crept  round 
to  the  front,  and  sidled  to  the  window.  Here  there 
was  a  light  shining  dully,  but  no  means  of  obtaining 
a  view  of  the  interior.  He  moved  on,  and,  crouching 
at  the  doorway,  listened  intently.  A  few  seconds 
satisfied  him.  Wanaha  was  inside  ;  she  was  awake, 
for  he  heard  her  moving  about.  He  knew  at  once 
that  Nevil  was  out. 

With  a  satisfied  sigh  he  moved  away.  This  time 
he  walked  eastward  toward  the  bridge,  keeping  close 
in  the  shadow  of  the  woods.  A  couple  of  hundred 
yards  from  the  hut  he  stopped  and  took  up  a  posi- 
tion just  within  the  shelter  of  the  undergrowth, 
whence  he  had  a  perfect  view  of  the  open  plain  in 
front,  and  yet  was  sufficiently  sheltered  by  the  echo- 
ing woods  to  hear  the  least  movement  of  any  one 
passing  that  way.     And  so  he  waited. 

Nor  did  he  wait  long.     Eyes  and  ears  trained  to 


THE  SUN-DANCE  291 

chis  sort  of  work  were  kept  ever  on  the  alert.  But 
it  was  his  ears  which  told  him  at  last  of  some  one 
approaching-.  Some  one  was  moving  through  the 
woods.  The  sound  was  faint  and  distant,  but  he 
heard  it.  There  was  no  mistake.  And  he  knew  it 
was  Nevil  Steyne  returning  home. 

Clearing  the  brush  he  made  his  way  into  the  midst 
of  the  aisles  of  leafless  tree-trunks.  Pausing  in  the 
shadow  of  one  of  the  forest  giants  he  waited.  The 
footsteps  came  nearer.  He  shifted  his  position  again  ; 
for  his  ears  told  him  that  he  was  not  yet  on  the  track 
which  Nevil  would  take. 

At  last,  however,  he  came  to  a  stand,  and  did  not 
move  again.  Guided  by  a  wonderful  hearing,  he 
knew  that  he  was  in  a  direct  line  between  the  man 
approaching  and  his  home. 

He  leant  against  a  tree,  his  eyes  and  ears  straining. 
Some  few  yards  away  there  was  a  shaft  of  moonlight 
stretching  right  across  the  path  which  Nevil  must 
take,  and  on  this  path  Seth  kept  his  eyes. 

The  man  came  on  all  unconscious  of  who  and  what 
was  awaiting  him.  He  had  no  thought  of  his  pres- 
ence at  the  Sun-dance  having  been  detected.  His 
thoughts  were  on  what  the  morrow  was  to  bring 
forth ;  on  what  it  would  mean  to  him  when  Rosebud 
was  removed  from  his  path.  She  alone  stood  be- 
tween him  and  that  which  he  had  schemed  for  ever 
since  the  arrival  of  the  memorable  letter  from  his 
brother.  He  was  in  a  mood  of  intense  satisfaction. 
He  knew  that  at  last  he  was  to  realize  his  desires, 


292      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

that  at  last  he  was  to  pay  off  a  long  score  which  he 
owed  Seth  of  White  River  Farm. 

He  stepped  into  the  moonlit  patch.  The  sudden 
flash  of  light  made  him  pause.  It  startled  him.  He 
looked  beyond  apprehensively,  then  he  looked  up, 
and  the  great  moon  above  reassured  him.  He  moved 
on.  The  next  moment  he  stopped  dead.  He  could 
proceed  no  further.  A  ring  of  metal  was  pressing 
against  his  forehead,  and  Seth  was  behind  it,  and  his 
smooth,  even  voice,  coldly  compelling,  held  him. 

"  Say,  I've  been  lookin'  fer  you,"  it  said.  "  You're 
comin'  right  up  to  the  farm.  The  Injuns  are  out. 
Savee  ?  Jest  fer  once  you're  goin'  to  work  on  our 
side.     Say,  you're  goin'  to  fight  'em — with  us." 

There   was   a   deathly   silence.     Neither   moved 
The    gun   was    pressing   the   man's   forehead   still. 
Nevil  stood  like  one  paralyzed. 

"  Wal  ? "  questioned  the  cold  voice,  proceeding 
from  Seth's  shadow)^  figure. 

And  Nevil  was  driven  to  speech. 

"  I'm  not  a  fighting  man.     I " 

But  his  denial  was  cut  short. 

"  You've  jest  got  ten  seconds  to  make  up  your 
mind.     You're  goin'  to  fight — for  us,  or " 

Seth  had  in  no  way  raised  his  tones  from  the  cold 
level  of  his  manner  at  the  beginning.  His  victim 
had  only  a  shadowy  impression  of  him.  He  saw 
only  a  hazy  outline  in  the  blackness  of  the  forest ; 
and  he  needed  no  further  sight  to  convince  him. 
There  was  sufficient  in  the  tone,  and  in  the  pressure 


THE  SUN-DANCE  293 

of  the  gnn  at   his  head.     He   knew  the  rest     Here 
was  a  sudden  collapse  of  all  his  schemes.     There 
could   be  no  resistance.     Seth  had  the  drop  on  him, 
"  I'll  go,'*  he  said  sullenly. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IN   DESPERATE   PLIGHT 

At  daylight  the  truth  was  known.  The  greatest 
Indian  rising  of  two  decades  had  begun. 

The  Bad-Lands  had  entered  upon  a  period  of 
slaughter,  of  wanton  massacre,  which  was  to  form 
one  of  the  bloodiest  pages  in  the  history  of  Indian 
warfare. 

The  first  to  realize  the  full  terror  of  the  situation 
were  the  troops  in  the  small  trader's  fort  overlooking 
the  Reservations.  They  awoke  to  find  themselves 
hemmed  in  by  a  vast  army  of  red-skinned  warriors, 
entirely  cut  off  from  the  outside  world.  The  climax  of 
their  discovery  was  reached  when  an  attempt  was 
made  to  dispatch  a  telegraphic  message  to  head- 
quarters.    The  wire  was  cut. 

The  next  to  grasp  the  situation  were  the  citizens 
of  Beacon  Crossing.  The  railroad  track  was  des- 
troyed, and  all  telegraphic  communication  was  cut 
off.  A  horde  of  warriors  from  Pine  Ridge  Reservar 
tion,  some  thousands  strong,  threatened  the  town- 
ship from  the  east,  thus  cutting  them  off  from  the 
settlers  on  the  plains. 

The  full  knowledge  of  these  things  came  in  driblets 
to  the  refugees  gathering  at  White  River  Farm,  fil- 


IN  DESPERATE  PLIGHT  295 

tering  through  piece  by  piece  as  each  party  came  in. 
But  as  yet  not  an  Indian  had  shown  himself  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  farm.  Already  twelve  families  had 
sought  the  shelter  of  Rube's  stockade.  And  all  was 
in  readiness  for  the  siege. 

The  morning  passed,  and  still  two  families  lying 
farther  out  than  all  the  others  had  not  yet  arrived. 
It  was  an  anxious  waiting. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  at  last 
one  of  the  missing  parties  appeared  on  the  horizon. 
It  was  at  once  seen  that  the  two  vehicles  were  being 
driven  at  a  desperate  pace.  They  were  approach- 
ing from  the  north,  and  even  at  that  distance  the 
lookout  could  see  the  drivers  flogging  their  horses 
into  a  furious  gallop. 

Seth  passed  the  order  to  stand  by.  The  defenders 
responded,  and  the  stockade  immediately  bristled 
with  rifles. 

The  wagons  came  on.  Then  suddenly  a  small 
party  of  Indians  appeared  over  the  horizon,  racing 
in  hot  pursuit.  But  evidently  the  view  of  the  farm 
altered  their  plans,  for  they  reined  in,  halted,  and,  a 
moment  later,  wheeling  about,  vanished  whence  they 
came. 

Seth,  watching  from  the  top  of  the  stockade,  real- 
ized something  of  the  significance  of  their  movements. 
And  far  graver  fears  than  the  manoeuvre  seemed 
to  warrant  assailed  him. 

The  late  arrivals  brought  further  bad  tidings. 
The    Indians    on  the  Cheyenne  River   Reservation 


296      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

were  out,  and  working  in  concert  with  the  others 
It  is  a  bad  business  when  Indian  tribes  band  together 
against  a  common  foe.  There  was  consternation 
among  the  women  when  they  heard  the  news.  The 
men  smiled  grimly,  but  there  was  no  lightness  in 
their  hearts. 

The  time  of  waiting  dragged  wearily.  Every  one 
within  the  stockade  felt  the  suspense  to  be  far  worse 
than  the  fiercest  fighting.  The  intangible  threat  of 
this  unnatural  calm  was  dreadful.  Still,  the  respite 
was  not  without  its  uses.  Defences  were  strength- 
ened with  earthworks  hastily  thrown  up  on  the  inside  of 
the  stockade,  and  the  upper  rooms  of  the  house  were 
made  ready  for  a  selected  firing  party,  whilst  the 
women  made  every  preparation  for  the  comfort  of 
their  men. 

Nevil  Steyne  moved  about  bearing  his  share  in  the 
labors.  He  was  morosely  silent,  and  his  presence 
caused  much  speculation  amongst  those  who  knew 
nothing  of  what  had  happened  on  the  previous  night. 
Seth's  replies  when  questioned  on  the  subject  were 
evasive.  Rube  and  Parker  were  no  wiser  than  the 
rest,  except  that  Seth  had  told  them  that  Nevil  was 
his  prisoner,  and  must  on  no  account  be  allowed  to 
escape. 

The  gray  spring  twilight  had  settled  over  the 
plains.  Still  the  last  family,  Joe  Smith  and  his  be- 
longings, had  not  come  in.  Seth  intended  to  give 
them  their  chance  up  to  the  very  last,  before  he  finally 
closed  the  gates.     As  the  sun  dropped  he  dispatched 


IN  DESPERATE  PLIGHT  297 

{our  mounted  men  to  act  as  vedettes.  They  took 
up  their  positions  a  mile  out  from  the  farm,  with 
orders  to  fire  two  shots  in  quick  succession  on  sight 
of  any  Indians,  and  then  to  ride  in  with  all  speed. 

After  delivering  his  instructions  he  took  up  his 
position  upon  the  stockade  and  watched  them  go. 
He  was  very  anxious  for  the  safety  of  Joe  Smith  ; 
his  place  was  nearly  ten  miles  out,  and  away  to  the 
northeast.  He  knew  that  if  the  northern  Indians 
were  out  it  was  quite  possible  that  the  old  man  had 
been  cut  off. 

Now,  as  the  day  drew  to  a  close,  something  of  the 
gloomy  prospect  before  them  all  seemed  to  have  en- 
tered his  soul.  He  was  no  alarmist,  but  he  knew 
only  too  well  the  meaning  of  a  big  general  Indian 
rising.  The  horrors  he  had  witnessed  in  his  eiuly 
days  were  strong  upon  him,  and  the  presence  of  ail 
these  white  women  under  his  charge  weighed  sorely , 
Nor  did  he  glean  much  satisfaction  from  the  thought 
that,  at  least,  should  disaster  fall  upon  them  he  still 
had  power  to  punish  the  man  whom  he  knew  to  be 
the  author  of  all  this  trouble.  It  would  be  poor  conso- 
lation. 

The  darkness  was  growing.  Now  the  reflection  of 
Indian  fires  could  be  seen  in  almost  every  direction. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  perfect  ring  of  them,  in  the 
distance,  around  the  farm. 

He  was  disturbed  in  his  gloomy  reverie  by  the 
sound  of  some  one  scrambling  up  the  newly-made 
earthworks  to  his  side.     It  was  Rosebud. 


298      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

She  took  her  seat  at  his  side  in  silence.  She  was 
clad  in  her  old  prairie  riding-habit  of  canvas,  strong 
and  rough,  and  eminently  suited  to  the  present  con- 
dition of  things.  They  had  hardly  met  since  the  first 
alarm,  so  busy  had  everybody  been.  But  now  that 
all  was  ready  the  final  lull  before  the  breaking  of  the 
storm  had  provided  even  the  busiest  with  leisure. 
The  girl's  first  words  came  abruptly,  and  displayed 
her  wonderful  faith  in  the  man  to  whom  they  all 
looked  for  help  and  protection. 

"Shall  we  pull  through,  Seth?"  she  asked. 

"Can't  say,  Rosie." 

The  man's  reply  was  spoken  slowly. 

"  Poor  auntie  !  "  Rosebud  went  on.  "  I  can't  help 
thinking  of  her.  I  wish  I'd  never  said  anything 
about  '  scalping '  to  her.  But  she's  very  good  and 
brave.  She  hasn't  complained,  and  she's  worked  as 
hard  as  anybody.  Do  you  know,  I  believe,  now 
she's  got  over  the  first  shock  of  it,  she  rather  enjoys 
it  What  do  you  think  she  said  to  me  half  an  hour 
ago  ?  She  said,  with  such  a  smile,  '  When  I  get 
home  I  shall  have  something  to  tell  them.  I'm  keep 
ing  a  diary.'  Like  a  fool  I  said,  '  You  aren't  home 
yet,  auntie.'  I  said  it  without  thinking.  What  dp 
you  suppose  she  replied  ? " 

"  Can't  guess." 

"  Oh,  I'll  get  home  all  right.  Mr.  Seth  '11  see  to 
that." 

But  Seth  was  impervious  to  the  compliment.  The 
girl  smilingly   watched  his  sombre  face  out  of  the 


IN  DESPERATE  PLIGHT  299 

corners  of  her  eyes.  There  was  no  responsive 
smile, 

"  It's  jest  them  things  make  it  hard,"  he  said,  with 
something  very  like  a  sigh. 

Rosebud's  face  had  become  serious.  Her  thoughts 
were  hard  at  work. 

"  Is  it  as  bad  as  that?  "  she  asked  presendy. 

'"Tain't  no  use  lookin'  at  it  easy.  We're  facin' 
the  music — hard — this  time.  But  we  ain't  done  yet. 
Not  by  a  sight.  It's  kind  o'  lucky  we've  laid  in  a 
big  store  of  ammunition  an'  things." 

It  was  dark  by  now,  except  for  the  glow  of  Indian 
fires,  which  gave  a  weird  light  on  all  sides. 

Rosebud  drew  closer  to  the  man's  side.  Her 
action  passed  unnoticed.  His  eyes  were  intent  upon 
the  dark  horizon.  He  was  watching,  watching,  with 
ever>'  faculty  alert.  He  was  listening,  his  ears  ready 
to  catch  the  faintest  sound. 

"  It  would  be  all  right  if  only  they  could  have 
sent  word  to  the  headquarters  of  the  troops,  I  s'pose," 
the  girl  said  thoughtfully.  *'  Just  fancy  the  Indians 
cutting  the  telegraph  wires  and  destroying  the  rail- 
way. 

"Yup.  Guess  they've  had  all  winter  to  get 
things  settled,"  Seth  responded  indifferendy,  while 
he  turned  a  keen  ear  to  windward. 

"What  are  you  listening  for?"  asked  Rosebud, 
quickly. 

"  General's  out  scoutin'." 

"  Good  old  General  1 " 


300      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Yes,  he'll  locate  the  Injuns  when  they  git 
around." 

But  just  then  Rosebud  was  thinking  of  other 
things. 

"  Why  can't  you  find  some  one  who  will  try  to 
get  through  to  the  troops?  I  mean  the  head- 
quarters ?  " 

Seth  shook  his  head. 

"  Can't  spare  a  single  man,"  he  said  conclusively. 
"  I  'lows  no  white  folk  'ud  get  through  anyways. 
An'  we  ain't  got  an  Injun,  an'  if  we  had  I  wouldn't 
trust  him  no  more'n  I'd  trust  a  'rattler.'  No,  Rosie, 
gal,  we've  got  to  fight  this  out  on  our  own.  An' 
make  no  sort  o'  mistake  we're  goin'  to  fight  good 
an'  hard.  I've  figgered  to  hold  this  place  fer  two 
weeks  an'  more.     That's  how  I've  figgered." 

It  was  the  final  repetition  which  filled  Rosebud 
with  misgivings.  She  realized  the  man's  doubt. 
Suddenly  she  slipped  a  hand  through  his  arm,  and 
it  gently  closed  over  one  of  his.  Her  soft  eyes  were 
raised  to  his  face  as  she  put  another  question  in  a 
low  tone. 

"  And  if  we  go  under,  Seth  ?  " 

The  man  moved  uneasily,  but  the  little  hand  re- 
tained its  hold  of  his. 

"What  then?" 

Seth  cleared  his  throat,  but  remained  silent 

"  What  then  ?  "  the  girl  persisted. 

"  Don't  ask  me." 

"  I've  thought  once  or  twice  of  my  poor  father  and 


IN  DESPERATE  PLIGHT  301 

mother,"  Rosebud  said  presendy.  "  I  was  wonder- 
ing what  happened  to  them  at — at  the  end." 

Seth  eyed  the  girl  for  a  second.  His  face  was 
troubled. 

"  I've  a  notion  he  was  killed  by  the  Injuns,"  he 
said. 

"  And  mother  ?  " 

"  Can't  jest  say.  I  don't  fancy,  though,  he  let  the 
brutes  worrit  her  any." 

There  was  another  pause.  With  an  involuntary 
movement  Rosebud's  hand  tightened  trustfully  upon 
his. 

"  I  think  father  was  right — to  do  that,"  she  said 
simply. 

The  man  nodded. 

The  next  moment  he  was  kneeling,  his  body  bend- 
ing forward,  and  his  eyes  straining  in  the  direction 
of  the  horizon. 

"What  is  it?"  the  girl  asked. 

"  Ther's  something  movin'." 

But  Rosebud  could  hear  nothing.  Still  she  was 
content  to  accept  his  assurance. 

"It's  wheels,"  he  said  after  a  few  moments. 

"  Is  it  Joe  Smith's  outfit?  " 

"Yup." 

They  both  listened.  The  girl  could  now  hear  the 
faintest  possible  rattle  of  wheels.  Suddenly  she 
turned  upon  him.  Her  breath  was  coming  quickly. 
She  was  smiling,  and  her  eyes  were  soft  under  cover 
of  the  dim  starlight. 


302      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Seth,  I  want  you  to  let  me  do  something.  In  the 
old  days  you  used  to  be  my  dear  old  '  daddy.'  You 
used  to  scx)ld  me  when  I  did  wrong.  You  used  to 
get  angry  with  me,  and  I  used  to  get  more  angry 
with  you.  Since  I've  grown  up,  of  course,  things 
have  changed,  haven't  they  ?  " 

"  Yes."  The  man  looked  into  her  face  wonder- 
ingly. 

"  Well,  daddy  dear,"  the  girl  laughed  nervously. 
"  Maybe  when  the  trouble  begins  I  shan't  see  much 
of  you.  You'll  be  busy,  and  so  will  I.  It's  peace 
now,  and  I  just  want  you  to  fall  back  into  the  old 
way.  I  want  you  for  my  '  daddy ' — my  dear,  dear 
old  '  daddy ' — just  for  these  few  minutes.  I  want  to 
be  the  silly  scatterbrain  I  used  to  be." 

*'  I  ain't  a  heap  at  guessin',  Rosie,"  Seth  said 
doubtfully,  but  smiling  tenderly  at  the  upturned  face. 

"  No,  you  never  were."  Rosebud  gave  a  queer 
little  laugh.  "  Well,  I  just  want  you  to  let  me  ride 
out  and  meet  dear  old  Mrs.  Smith.  You  know  what 
a  nervous  old  dear  she  is.  I  just  thought  if  I  rode 
out  it  might  brighten  her  up.  You  see,  she'd  think 
the  danger  less,  if  a  woman  came  to  meet  her." 

"  Wal,  I  won't  say  you  no,  gal,"  Seth  replied 
gravely.  "  Guess  it  ain't  right.  But  ther'  ain't  a 
heap  of  danger.  Y'  see  in  them  old  days  I  most 
gener'ly  let  you  do  as  you  notioned,"  he  finished  up 
with  a  shadowy  smile. 

"  Dear  old  daddy ! "  Rosebud  squeezed  his  arm 
with  both  her  hands. 


IN  DESPERATE  PLIGHT  303 

"  Ther'  be  off,  an'  git  your  plug  saddled,  or  mebbe 
I'll  change  my  mind."  The  man  could  stand  the 
temptation  no  longer.  He  gently  released  himself, 
and  the  girl  moved  as  though  to  descend.  But  she 
altered  her  mind.  Fortunately  neither  could  see  the 
other's  face  distinctly. 

"  Seth,"  she  said,  with  forced  brightness,  "  in  the 
old  days  when  I  asked  your  permission  for  anything 
and  you  gave  it  to  me  you — you  didn't  let  me  go 
like  that.  It  was  customary  for  me  to  show  my 
gratitude — like — like  this." 

She  suddenly  leant  forward  and  imprinted  a  swift 
kiss  on  the  man's  thin  cheek.  And  before  he  could 
reply,  or  even  move,  she  had  clambered  down  from 
the  wall  and  made  off.  Nor  was  it  until  he  heard 
her  horse  galloping  out  of  the  stockade,  which  oc- 
curred suspiciously  soon  after  her  leaving  him,  that 
he  became  aware  that  his  cheek  was  wet  with  tears 
that  had  not  been  of  his  shedding. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A   LAST  ADVENTURE 

It  was  not  without  a  guilty  feeling  that  Rosebud 
rode  out  of  the  stockade.  She  knew  that  she  was  de- 
ceiving Seth.  She  knew  that  she  had  lied  to  him  de- 
liberately. Worse,  she  had  played  upon  his  feelings 
with  intent  to  deceive  him.  But  her  motive  was 
good,  and  she  tried  to  draw  consolation  from  the 
knowledge. 

Her  argument  was  worthy  of  her.  It  was  impul- 
sive, and  would  not  stand  the  test  of  logical  inspec- 
tion. She  had  thought  long  before  putting  her 
plan  into  execution  ;  at  least,  long  for  her.  She 
told  herself  that  no  deceit  was  unpardonable  which 
had  an  honest,  sound  motive.  In  fact  it  was  not  de- 
ceit at  all,  only  subterfuge. 

Her  argument  was  something  after  this  fashion. 
She  had  been  the  chief  source  of  trouble.  Therefore 
she  owed  something  to  the  general  welfare.  Seth 
was  harassed  with  his  responsibilities,  and  the  chances 
were  terribly  against  him  and  those  under  his  charge. 
There  was  something  she  could  do,  something  which 
might  turn  the  tide  in  their  favor,  might  save  the 
situation.  What  if  to  carr)?^  it  out  she  must  act  a  lie  ? 
Who  would  blame  her  if  she  were  successful  ?  If  it 
failed  it  would  not  matter  to  her  who  blamed. 


A  LAST  ADVENTURE  305 

She  was  a  child  no  longer,  but  a  strong  woman 
v.hose  devotion  to  those  she  loved  rose  boundless 
over  every  other  feeling.  It  was  this  verv  devotion 
that  urged  her  and  shut  out  every  scruple,  every 
qualm  of  conscience,  at  the  manner  in  which  she  had 
gained  her  ends. 

Thus  she  passed  out  into  the  dark,  starlit  world, 
with  its  strange  glare  of  fire. 

Once  clear  of  the  farm  she  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 
The  tension  had  relaxed  now  that  she  felt  herself  to 
be  doing  at  last.  Cooped  within  the  stockade,  her 
plans  still  waiting  to  be  set  in  motion,  she  had  felt 
nigh  to  choking  with  nervousness.  Her  anxiety  to 
be  gone  had  been  overwhelming.  Perhaps  none 
knew  better  than  she  what  the  task  of  cajoling  Seth 
meant,  for  he  was  not  an  easy  man  when  duty  was 
uppermost  in  his  mind.  But  that  was  all  done  with 
now  ;  she  was  out  at  last. 

The  freedom  of  her  horse's  gait  felt  good  under 
her.  There  was  confidence,  exhilaration  to  be  drawn 
from  each  springing  stride.  And,  too,  there  was  a 
new  and  delightful  sense  of  responsibility  in  the 
heavy  lolling  of  the  revolver  holsters  upon  her  hips, 
But  above  all  there  was  the  supreme  feeling  that  she 
was  endeavoring  to  help  those  she  had  left  behind. 

Her  tears  had  dried  before  she  mounted  to  the  back 
of  the  animal  to  which  she  was  now  pinning  her  faith. 
The  parting  kiss  she  had  imprinted  upon  the  man's 
thin  cheek  had  inspired  her.  Life  meant  nothing  to 
her  without  him.     Her  fortune  was  nothing  to  her . 


3o6      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

no  one  was  anything  to  her  compared  with  him.  He 
stood  out  over  everything  else  in  her  thoughts. 

She  heard  the  rumbling  of  the  wheels  of  Joe 
Smith's  wagons,  but  gave  no  heed  to  them.  In- 
stead, she  rode  straight  on  to  the  south,  purposely 
avoiding  the  newcomers  she  was  ostensibly  going 
to  meet.  In  a  few  minutes  she  drew  rein  at  Wan- 
aha's  log  hut. 

She  was  not  without  some  doubts  when  she  saw 
that  the  place  was  in  darkness.  But  her  apprehen- 
sions were  quickly  dissipated.  Her  first  summons 
brought  the  squaw  to  the  door,  where  her  tall,  dark 
figure  stood  out  in  the  gentle  starlight. 

As  was  her  custom  Rosebud  handed  the  woman 
the  reins  to  hook  upon  the  wall.  She  was  constrained 
to  do  without  her  usual  greeting,  for  she  knew  that, 
here  too,  she  must  deceive  to  gain  her  ends.  It 
would  be  madness  to  tell  the  half-tamed  savage  her 
real  intentions.  Wanaha's  love  for  her  was  greats 
but  well  she  knew  that  blood  is  thicker  than  water, 
and  a  savage's  blood  more  particularly  so  than  any- 
body's else. 

Once  inside  the  hut  Wanaha  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"You  come?  On  this  night?"  she  questioned, 
choosing  her  English  words  with  her  usual  care. 

The  girl  permitted  no  unnecessary  delay  in  plung- 
ing into  the  object  of  her  visit. 

'*  Yes,  yes,  my  Wana,"  she  replied,  drawing  the 
tall  woman  to  her,  so  that,  in  the  dim  starlight,  they 
sat  together  on  the  edge  of  the  bed.     Her  action  was 


A  LAST  ADVENTURE  307 

one  of  tender  affection.  Wanaha  submitted,  well 
pleased  that  her  white  friend  had  allowed  nothing  of 
the  doings  of  her  people  to  come  between  them. 
"  Yes,  I  come  to  you  for  help.  I  come  to  you  be- 
cause I  want  to  remove  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble 
between  your  people  and  mine.  Do  you  know  the 
source  of  the  trouble  ?     I'll  tell  you.     I  am  !  " 

Rosebud  looked  fixedly  in  the  great  dark  eyes, 
so  soft  yet  so  radiant  in  the  starlight. 

"  I  know.  It  is — my  brother.  He  want  you.  He 
fight  for  you.  Kill,  slay.  It  matter  not  so  he  have 
you." 

The  woman  nodded  gravely.  The  girl's  heart 
bounded,  for  she  saw  that  her  task  was  to  be  an 
easy  one. 

"  Yes,  so  it  is.  I  have  thought  much  about  this 
thing.  I  should  never  have  come  back  to  the  farm. 
It  was  bad." 

Again  Wanaha  nodded. 

"  And  that  is  why  I  come  to  you.  I  love  my 
friends.  There  is  some  one  I  love,  like  you  love 
your  Nevil,  and  I  want  to  save  him.  They  will  all 
be  killed  if  I  stay,  for  your  brother  is  mighty — a 
great  warrior.     So  I  am  going  away." 

Rosebud's  allusion  to  the  squaw's  love  for  her 
husband  was  tactful.  She  was  completely  won. 
The  girl,  who  was  clasping  one  of  Wanaha's  hands, 
felt  a  warm,  responsive  pressure  of  sympathy,  and 
she  knew. 

"  Yes,  now  I  want  you  to  help  m.e,"  she  hurried 


308      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

on.  "To  go  as  I  am  now,  a  white  girl  in  white  girl's 
clothing,  would  be  madness.  I  know  your  people, 
I  should  never  escape  their  all-seeing  eyes.  I  must 
go  like  one  of  your  people." 

"  You  would  be — a  squaw  ?  "  A  wonderful  smile 
was  in  the  great  black  eyes  as  Wanaha  put  the 
question. 

"Yes." 

"  Yes,  I  see.  Wana  sees."  A  rising  excitement 
seemed  to  stir  the  squaw.  She  came  closer  to  her 
white  friend  and  spoke  quickly,  stumbling  over  her 
English  in  a  manner  she  would  never  have  permitted 
in  cooler  moments.  "  An'  in  these  way  you  mak' 
yourself  go.  You  fly,  you  run ;  so  my  brother,  the 
great  chief,  no  more  you  find.  Yes?  Then  him 
say,  '  him  gone/  We  no  more  use  him  fight  We 
go  by  tepee  quick.  An'  there  is  great  peace.  Is 
that  how  ?  " 

"That  is  it,"  cried  Rosebud,  in  her  eagerness 
flinging  her  arms  about  the  squaw's  neck.  "  We 
must  be  quick.  Seth  will  miss  me  from  the  farm,  and 
then  there'll  be  a  to-do,  and  he  will  come  hunting 
for  me.  Lend  me  your  clothes,  a  blanket,  and  an 
Indian  saddle.  Quick,  my  Wana !  you'll  help  me, 
won't  you  ?  Oh,  make  haste  and  say,  and  set  my 
doubts  at  rest !  " 

The  tide  of  the  girl's  appeal  had  its  effect.  The 
squaw  rose  swiftly,  silently.  She  moved  off  and 
presently  came  back  with  a  bundle  of  beaded  buck- 
skin clothmg. 


A  LAST  ADVENTURE  309 

"  You  wear  these,  they  my  own.  I  get  him  for 
you.  See.  You  put  on,  1  go  get  saddle.  The  blanket 
here.  So.  Nevil,  my  Nevil,  from  home.  Wana 
not  know  where.     But  maybe  he  come  quick  an'  hnd 

you  an'  then " 

Wana  did  not  finish  expressing  her  fears.  She 
seemed  suddenly  to  remember  of  whom  she  was 
speaking,  and  that  there  was  disloyalty  in  what  she 
was  saying. 

But  Rosebud  was  paying  litde  heed.  She  was  al- 
ready changing  her  clothes.  She  knew  the  value  of 
lime  just  then,  and  she  had  been  forced  to  w^aste 
much  already.  While  she  was  completing  the  trans- 
formation, the  squaw  went  out  and  changed  her  sad- 
dle and  bridle  for  an  Indian  blanket  and  surcingle 
with  stirrups  attached  to  it,  and  a  plaited,  gaudy  rope 
bridle  and  spade  bit. 

When  she  came  back  the  white  girl  had  completed 
her  toilet,  even  to  the  moccasins  and  buckskin  chapps. 
Even  the  undemonstrative  Wanaha  exclaimed  at  the 
metamorphosis. 

She  saw  before  her  in  the  dim  starlight  the  most 
delightful  picture  of  a  squaw.  Rosebud's  wealth  of 
golden  hair  was  hidden  beneath  the  folds  of  the  col- 
ored blanket,  and  only  her  fair  white  face  with  its 
dazzling  eyes,  bright  now  with  excitement,  shone 
out  and  destroyed  the  illusion. 

•'  You  are  much  beautiful,"  the  Indian  declared  in 
amazement.  Then  she  stood  gazing  until  Rosebud  s 
practical  voice  roused  her. 


310      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Food,  my  Wana." 

"  I  give  bread  and  meat.  It  in  bags  on  the  horse. 
So.     Now  you  go?" 

"  Yes,  dear  Wana.     I  must  go." 

Rosebud  reached  her  arms  up  to  the  tall  woman's 
neck,  and  drawing  her  dark  face  down  to  her  own, 
kissed  her.  Though  she  loved  this  dark  princess 
she  knew  that  her  kiss  was  the  kiss  of  Judas.  Then 
she  passed  out,  and,  mounting  her  horse,  rode 
away. 

Within  five  minutes  of  her  going,  and  while  Wan- 
aha  was  still  standing  in  the  doorway  looking  aftei 
her,  a  party  of  warriors,  headed  by  Little  Black  Fox 
himself,  rode  up  to  the  house.  The  chief  had  come 
in  search  of  Nevil  Steyne.  He  angrily  demanded 
the  white  man's  whereabouts  of  the  woman  who  was 
his  sister. 

The  ensuing  scene  was  one  of  ferocious  rage  on 
the  part  of  the  headstrong  man,  and  fear,  hidden 
under  an  exterior  of  calm  debate,  on  the  part  of 
Wanaha.  She  knew  her  brother,  and  in  her  mind 
tried  to  account  for  her  husband's  absence.  After 
the  warriors  had  departed  she  passed  a  night  of 
gloomy  foreboding. 

All  unconscious  of  her  narrow  escape,  Rosebud 
headed  away  to  the  northeast.  She  had  no  elaborate 
scheme  of  route.  With  the  instinct  of  her  prairie 
training  she  knew  her  direction.  She  would  make 
her  destination  as  the  crow  flies,  chancing  every- 
thing, every  danger,  so  that  she  could  make  the  best 


A  LAST  ADVENTURE  31 1 

time ;  no  personal  considerations  entered  into  her 
calculations. 

She  could  see  the  reflections  of  the  camp-fires  in 
the  sky  in  every  direction,  but,  with  a  reckless  cour- 
age, she  cared  nothing  for  this.  A  more  calculating 
mind  might  well  have  shrunk  from  the  dangers  they 
suggested.  To  her  they  meant  no  more  than  obsta- 
cles which  must  be  confronted  and  overcome.  She 
knew  nothing  of  strategy  in  warfare  ;  of  cover  there 
was  none  in  the  direction  she  was  taking. 

Like  the  line  of  great  soldiers  from  whom  she  was 
descended  she  understood  riding  straight  only.  Let 
the  fences  and  pitfalls  come,  let  them  be  what  they 
might,  she  v/ould  not  swerve.  Whatever  the  emer- 
gency, she  was  prepared  to  confront  it,  and,  like  a 
thorough  sportswoman  but  a  bad  general,  to  take 
her  chance,  relying  only  on  her  good  horse  and  the 
darkness,  and  the  proverbial  luck  of  the  reckless. 

Though  this  was  her  general  idea  she  did  all  she 
could  to  help.  A  featherweight,  she  still  strove  to 
ride  lighter.  Then  she  had  her  firearms,  and  she 
steeled  her  heart  to  their  use.  After  all  she  came 
from  splendid  fighting  stock. 

She  allowed  herself  no  thought  of  failure.  She 
must  not  fail,  she  told  herself.  They  were  waiting 
for  help  in  the  stockade  behind  her  ;  patient,  strong, 
a  man  of  lion  heart,  who  knew  defeat  only  when  the 
last  shot  was  fired,  the  last  blow  struck,  and  he  was 
left  helpless  to  defend  himself  and  those  others,  he 
was  waiting.     Her  thoughts  inspired  her  with  the 


312      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

courage  of  a  brave  woman  whose  lover  is  in  grave 
peril,  than  which  there  is  no  greater  courage  in  the 
world. 

Now  the  moment  of  her  peril  drew  near.  Every 
raking  stride  of  her  willing  horse  cut  the  brief  sec- 
onds shorter  and  shorter.  The  lurid  reflections  of 
the  camp-fires  in  the  sky  had  given  place  to  the  star- 
like  glow  of  the  fires  themselves,  and  every  yard  of 
the  distance  covered  showed  them  larger  and  plainer 
against  the  sky-line. 

She  was  riding  straight  for  the  middle  course  of 
the  black  space  dividing  two  of  the  fires  ahead. 
There  was  little  to  choose  in  any  direction,  so  com- 
plete was  the  circle  around  the  farm,  but  she  had 
been  quick  to  see  that  that  little  lay  here. 

She  measured  the  distance  she  had  to  go  with  her 
eye.  It  was  not  far,  and  instinctively  she  reined  her 
horse  up  to  give  him  breathing  for  the  great  effort  to 
come  ;  an  effort  which  she  knew  was  to  be  very  real 
indeed.  Approaching  steadily  she  made  her  prepa- 
rations. Freeing  her  right  arm  from  her  blanket 
she  drew  one  of  her  revolvers  and  saw  that  it  was 
fully  loaded.  Then  she  closely  scrutinized  the  fires. 
She  could  make  out  the  general  outline  of  two  vast 
camps  away  to  the  right  and  left  of  her.  The  fires 
were  in  the  midst,  and  right  to  the  limits  of  the  lurid 
light,  she  could  see  the  dim  outlines  of  innumerable 
tepees,  and  crowds  of  moving  figures.  It  was  a 
sight  to  put  fear  into  the  heart  of  a  daring  man,  then 
how  much  more  so  into  the  heart  of  a  frail  woman  ? 


A  LAST  ADVENTURE  313 

The  black  stretch  before  her  seemed  devoid  of 
tepees,  but  she  was  not  sure.  Of  one  thing  she  felt 
convinced,  even  if  the  camps  were  confined  to  the 
fires  there  was  no  likelihood  of  these  wide  intervals 
being  left  unguarded. 

Her  horse  refreshed,  she  put  him  into  a  strong 
gallop,  and  in  a  few  minutes  had  entered  the  danger 
zone.  Almost  on  the  instant  her  surmise  proved 
correct.  The  air  directly  ahead  of  her  split  with  a 
fierce  yell  She  knew  it.  It  was  the  Sioux  war-cry 
The  supreme  moment  had  come.  It  must  be  now  or 
never.  Clinching  her  moccasined  heels  into  hei 
horse's  barrel  she  sent  him  racing  headlong.  And 
as  he  rushed  forward  she  gripped  her  revolver  ready 
for  immediate  use. 

An  Indian  mounted  on  a  pony  suddenly  loomed 
ahead  of  her.  Such  was  her  pace  that  he  seemed  to 
rush  out  of  the  darkness  upon  her.  Yet  his  pony  had 
not  moved.  There  was  a  clatter  of  speeding  hoofs  on 
either  side,  and  she  knew  that  the  alarm  had  been 
taken  up,  and  the  bloodthirsty  warriors  from  the 
camps  were  in  pursuit. 

The  man  ahead  appeared  only  for  an  instant.  Her 
revolver  was  covering  him,  the  terrific  speed  of  her 
horse  helped  her  aim.  She  saw  the  sights  of  her 
weapon  ;  she  saw  the  man.  The  hammer  fell.  There 
was  a  cry,  and  the  biting  report  of  the  revolver  died 
away  in  the  darkness.  She  had  passed  the  spot 
where  the  man  had  been.  Horse  and  rider  had 
vanished.     She  had  no  thought  for  anything  now. 


314      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

She  was  conscious  of  only  one  thing,  the  din  of  pur- 
suit. 

Thrusting  the  revolver  back  into  its  holster  she 
offered  up  a  silent  prayer  to  heaven.  Then  she 
leaned  over  her  horse's  neck  to  relieve  him  of  her 
weight,  and,  with  the  yelling  horde  hard  upon  her 
heels,  gave  herself  up  to  the  race. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

HARD   PRESSED 

During  those  first  terrible  days  of  the  Indian  out- 
break the  horrors  that  befell  could  only  be  guessed 
at.  The  government,  the  people  living  without  the 
danger  zone,  gradually  learned  the  full  details,  but 
those  most  concerned  only  knew  what  was  happen- 
ing in  their  immediate  neighborhood.  Every  one, 
even  those  who  had  made  a  life-study  of  their  red- 
skinned  neighbors,  were  taken  unawares.  The 
methods  of  the  untried  chieftain  had  proved  them- 
selves absolutely  Napoleonic. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  whole  cam- 
paign was  the  result  of  long  and  secret  preparation. 
But  it  had  been  put  into  execution  at  the  psycho- 
logical moment,  which  was  its  warrant  of  success. 
That  this  moment  had  been  unpremeditated,  and  that 
something  very  like  chance  alone  had  precipitated 
matters,  afforded  neither  hope  nor  consolation. 

And  this  chance.  A  frail  white  woman  ;  Rosebud's 
return  to  the  farm — her  visit  in  Nevil  Steyne's  com- 
pany to  the  Reservation.  For  a  few  moments  the 
wild,  haughty  chieftain  had  stood  observing  her  as 
she  rode  through  the  encampment ;  and  in  those  few 
moments  the  mischief  was  done. 

The  old  trading  fort  offered  little  resistance  to  the 


3i6      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Indian  attack,  and  the  handful  of  troops  within  it 
very  Uttle  more.  Being  soldiers  they  were  treated 
to  the  Indians'  first  attention.  An  overwhelming 
horde  of  picked  warriors  was  sent  to  deal  with  them, 
and,  by  the  end  of  the  second  day,  the  massacre  and 
sacking  of  the  post  were  accomplished. 

In  this  way  a  large  reinforcement  was  added  to  the 
party  threatening  Beacon  Crossing.  Intoxicated  with 
their  first  success  the  whole  arm}^  rushed  upon  the 
unfortunate  township.  And  all  the  more  fierce  was 
the  onslaught  for  the  reason  that  the  attack  was  made 
up  of  rival  tribes. 

The  Rosebuds  had  wiped  out  the  troops,  and,  in 
consequence,  the  men  of  Pine  Ridge,  fired  by  jeal- 
ousy, advanced  like  a  raging  torrent  mad  with  the 
desire  for  slaughter.  Utterly  unprepared  for  such 
rapid  movements,  the  men  at  the  Crossing,  unorgan- 
ized, hardly  realizing  what  had  happened,  fell  easy 
victims. 

The  township,  like  the  fort,  was  wiped  from  the 
fair  face  of  the  budding  prairie-land.  The  horrors 
of  the  massacre  were  too  terrible  to  be  dealt  with 
here.  Every  man,  woman,  and  child  now  living  in 
the  country  has  heard  the  tales  of  that  awful  week. 
Few  people  escaped,  and  those  only  by  taking  to  the 
Black  Hills,  where  they  suflfered  untold  privations 
from  want  and  exposure. 

Having  thus  disposed  of  the  two  principal  centres 
from  which  interference  might  spring,  the  Indians 
proceeded  to  devote   themselves  to  the  individual 


HARD  PRESSED  3I7 

settlers  upon  the  prairie.  Not  a  farm  escaped  their 
attention.  North  and  south,  east  and  west,  for  miles 
and  miles  the  red  tide  swept  over  the  face  of  the 
plains,  burning,  sacking,  murdering. 

A  track  of  blood  was  left  behind  them  wherever 
they  went.  Charred  monuments  marked  the  tombs 
of  hardy  setders  caught  in  the  red  fiood  ;  where  peace 
and  prosperity  had  so  recently  reigned,  now  were 
onlv  ruin  and  devastation. 

With  each  succeeding  day  the  horror  grew.  The 
northern  Indians  threw  in  their  lot  with  their  war- 
like Sioux  brothers,  and  all  the  smaller  and  more 
distant  tribes,  numerically  too  weak  for  initiative, 
hastened  to  the  bloody  field  of  battle.  The  rebellion 
grew  ;  it  spread  over  the  country  like  a  running  sore 
The  Bad  Lands  were  maintaining  their  tide. 

At  first  the  news  that  filtered  through  to  the  out- 
side world  was  meagre,  and  devoid  of  reliable  detail. 
Thus  it  happened  that  only  a  few  troops  were  hur- 
ried to  the  scene  of  action.  It  was  not  undl  these, 
like  the  handful  at  the  fort,  had  served  to  swell  the 
roll  of  massacre,  and  the  fact  became  known  that  the 
northern  posts,  where  large  forces  were  always  kept 
in  readiness,  were  cut  off  from  all  communications, 
that  the  world  learned  the  full  horror  that  had  be- 
fallen the  Indian  territory  of  Dakota. 

Through  these  days  the  one  place  to  hold  out 
against  the  fierce  onslaught  of  an  overwhelming  foe 
was  the  fortified  farm  of  White  River.  But  it  was 
in  a  desperate  plight. 


3i8       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

So  far  only  the  foresight  of  the  defenders  had 
saved  them.  The  vast  strength  of  the  stockade  and 
the  inner  earthworks,  hurriedly  thrown  up  at  the  last 
moment,  and  the  unswerving  devotion  of  the  little 
band  of  settlers  within  its  shelter,  had  formed  a  com- 
bination of  stout  resistance.  But  as  the  time  passed, 
and  each  day  brought  with  it  its  tally  of  casualties, 
the  position  became  more  and  more  desperate. 

With  each  attack  the  fortifications  suffered.  Twice 
the  ramparts  were  breached,  and  only  nightfall  had 
saved  the  situation.  At  long  range  fighting  the  white 
defenders  had  the  best  of  it,  but  hand  to  hand  the 
issue  was  reversed.  Each  day  saw  one  or  two  of 
the  white  men  laid  low,  and  the  burden  of  the  rest 
proportionately  increased.  Thus,  out  of  a  total  of 
Ihirty  available  men  and  youths,  at  the  end  of  six 
days  the  force  was  reduced  by  nearly  a  third. 

But  worst  of  all  was  the  strain.  Every  man  within 
the  stockade,  and  for  that  matter,  most  of  the  women, 
too,  knew  that  the  pressure  could  not  endure  much 
longer  without  disastrous  results.  Ammunition  was 
plentiful,  provisions  also,  and  the  well  supplied  all 
the  water  necessary.  It  was  none  of  these ;  it  was 
the  nerve  strain,  the  lack  of  proper  rest  and  sleep. 
The  men  only  snatched  odd  half  hours  in  the  day- 
time.    At  night  every  eye  and  ear  had  to  be  alert. 

Seth  and  Parker  headed  everything.  In  the  coun- 
cils they  were  the  leaders,  just  as  they  were  in  the 
fighting.  And  on  them  devolved  the  full  control  of 
affairs,  from    the    distribution    of   rations,    in   which 


HARD  PRESSED  319 

Ma  Sampson  and  Miss  Parker  were  their  lieutenants, 
to  the  regulations  for  the  sanitation  of  the  fort 

All  the  time  Nevil  Steyne  was  never  lost  sight  of. 
He  was  driven  to  fight  beside  his  leader  with  Rube 
close  behind  him  ready  for  any  treachery.  He  knew 
that  Seth  knew  him,  knew  his  secret,  knew  his  rela- 
tions with  the  Indians,  and  he  quite  understood  that 
his  only  hope  lay  in  implicit  obedience,  and  a  watch- 
ful eye  for  escape.  His  nature  was  such  that  he  had 
no  qualms  of  conscience  in  regard  to  opposing  his 
red-skinned  friends.  That  part  he  accepted  philo- 
sophically. He  had  so  long  played  a  game  of  self- 
seeking  treachery  that  his  present  condition  came 
quite  easily  to  him. 

For  Seth,  who  shall  say  what  that  dreadful  period 
of  suspense  must  have  been  ?  He  went  about  his 
work  with  his  usual  quiet,  thoughtful  face,  a  perfect 
mask  for  that  which  lay  behind  it.  There  was  no 
change  of  manner  or  expression.  Success  or  disaster 
could  not  alter  his  stern,  unyielding  ways.  He 
fought  with  the  abandon  and  desperation  of  any 
Indian  warrior  when  it  came  to  close  quarters,  return- 
ing to  his  quiet,  alert  manner  of  command  the  mo- 
ment the  fighting  was  over.  He  was  uncomplain- 
ing, always  reassuring  those  about  him,  and  carrv'ing 
in  his  quiet  personality  something  that  fired  his 
companions  to  exertions  which  no  words  of  encour- 
agement could  have  done. 

Yet  he  was  passing  through  an  agony  of  heart  and 
mind  such  as  few  men  are  submitted  to.     Rosebud 


320      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

had  gone,  vanished,  and  no  one  could  answer  the 
question  that  was  forever  in  his  mind.  He  had 
looked  for  her  return  when  Joe  Smith's  party  came 
in,  only  to  be  confounded  by  the  fact  that  she  had 
not  even  been  seen  by  them.  That  night  he  had 
risked  everything  for  her.  He  scouted  till  dawn, 
visiting  Wanaha's  hut,  but  only  to  find  it  deserted. 
Finally  he  returned  to  the  farm  a  broken-hearted 
man,  bitter  with  the  reflection  that  he  alone  was  to 
blame  for  what  had  happened. 

The  girl's  loss  cast  a  terrible  gloom  over  the  whole 
fort.  It  was  only  her  sense  of  responsibility  which 
saved  Ma  from  breaking  down  altogether.  Rube 
said  not  a  word,  but,  like  Seth,  he  perhaps  suffered 
the  more. 

It  was  on  the  seventh  day  that  a  curious  change 
came  over  the  situation.  At  first  it  was  greeted  with 
delight,  but  after  the  novelty  had  passed,  a  grave 
suspicion  grew  in  the  minds  of  the  worn  and  weary 
defenders.  There  was  not  a  shot  fired.  The  enemy 
had  withdrawn  to  their  distant  camps,  and  a  heavy 
peace  prevailed.  But  the  move  was  so  unaccounta- 
ble that  all  sought  the  reason  of  it. 

Counsel  wels  taken  by  the  heads  of  the  defence, 
and  the  feeling  of  uneasiness  grew.  The  more  ex- 
perienced conceived  it  to  be  the  herald  of  a  final, 
overwhelming  onslaught.  The  younger  preferred 
optimistic  views,  which  they  found  unconvincing. 
However,  every  one  took  care  that  advantage  was 
taken  of  the  respite. 


HARD  PRESSED  321 

Seth  had  his  supper  in  one  of  the  upper  rooms  in 
company  with  Parker  and  Nevil  Steyne.  He  sat  at 
the  open  window  watching,  watching  with  eyes 
straining  and  nerves  painfully  alert.  Others  might 
rest,  he  could  not,  dared  not. 

The  sun  dipped  below  the  horizon.  The  brief 
spring  twilight  changed  from  gold  to  gray.  A  foot- 
step sounded  outside  the  door  of  the  room  where  the 
three  men  were  sitting.  A  moment  later  Mrs.  Rick- 
ards  came  in.  Rosebud's  cousin  had  changed  con- 
siderably in  those  seven  days.  Her  ample  propor- 
tions were  shrunken.  Her  face  was  less  round,  but 
had  gained  in  character.  The  education  of  a  lifetime 
had  been  crowded  into  the  past  week  for  her.  And 
it  had  roused  a  spirit  within  her  bosom,  the  presence 
of  which  she  had  not  even  suspected. 

"  Rube  wants  you,  Seth,"  she  announced.  "  He's 
on  the  north  side  of  the  stockade.  It's  something 
particular,  I  think,"  she  added.  "That's  why  he 
asked  me  to  tell  you." 

With  a  few  words  of  thanks,  Seth  accompanied 
b.er  from  the  room  and  moved  down-stairs.  It  was 
on  their  way  down  that  Mrs.  R.ickards  laid  a  hand, 
already  work-worn,  upon  the  man's  arm. 

"  They're  advancing  again.  Seth,  shall  we  get 
out  of  this  trouble  ?  " 

The  question  was  asked  without  any  expression  of 
fear,  and  the  man  knew  that  the  woman  wanted  a 
plain,  truthful  answer. 

"It    don't    seem    like    it,"    he   answered    quietly 


322      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Yet,  I  kind  o'  notion  we  shall."  Then  after  a  pause 
he  asked,  "  What's  your  work  now  ?  " 

"  The  wounded," 

"  Ah  !     Did  you  ever  fire  a  gun,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Have  you  a  notion  to  try  ?  " 

"  If  necessary." 

"  Mebbe  it's  going  to  be." 

"  You  can  count  on  me." 

Wondering  at  the  change  in  this  Englishwoman, 
her  companion  left  her  to  join  Rube. 

He  found  the  whole  garrison  agog  with  excite- 
ment and  alarm.  There  was  a  large  gathering  at 
the  north  side  of  the  stockade,  behind  the  barn  and 
outbuildings.  Even  in  the  swift  falling  darkness  it 
was  evident  that  a  big  move  was  going  on  in  the 
distant  Indian  camps.  Nor  did  it  take  long  to  con- 
vince ever}^body  that  the  move  was  in  the  nature  of 
an  advance. 

After  along  and  earnest  scrutiny  through  a  pair  of 
old  field-glasses,  Seth,  followed  by  Rube,  made  a  round 
of  the  fortifications.  The  movement  was  going  on 
in  every  direction,  and  he  knew  that  by  morning,  at 
any  rate,  they  would  have  to  confront  a  grand  as- 
sault. He  had  completed  the  round,  and  was  in  the 
midst  of  discussing  the  necessary  preparations  with 
Rube,  still  examining  the  outlook  through  the 
glasses,  wheii  suddenly  he  broke  off  with  a  sharp 
ejaculation.  The  next  moment  he  turned  to  the  old 
man  below  him. 


HARD  PRESSED  323 

"  Take  these  glasses,  Rube,"  he  said  rapidly,  "  an' 
stay  right  here.  Guess  I'm  goin'  to  drop  over.  I'll 
be  back  in  awhiles.  There's  somethin'  movin'  among 
the  grass  within  gunshot." 

With  a  cheery  "  aye,"  Rube  clam.bered  to  the  top 
of  the  stockade  as  the  younger  man  disappeared  on 
the  other  side. 

Seth  landed  on  his  hands  and  knees  and  moved 
out  in  that  manner.  Whatever  his  quarry  the  plains- 
man's movements  would  have  been  difficult  of  de- 
tection, for  he  crept  along  toward  his  goal  with  that 
rapid,  serpentine  movement  so  essentially  Indian. 

Rube  watched  him  until  darkness  hid  him  from 
view.  Then,  stooping  low,  and  scanning  the  sky- 
line a  few  minutes  later,  he  distinctly  made  out  the 
silhouette  of  two  men  standing  talking  together. 

Seth  found  himself  confronting  an  Indian.  The 
man  was  plastered  with  war-paint,  and  his  befeath- 
ered  head  was  an  imposing  sight.  But,  even  in  the 
darkness,  he  recognized  the  broad  face  and  slit-like 
eyes  of  the  scout,  Jim  Crow.  He  was  fully  armed, 
but  the  white  man's  gun  held  him  covered.  In  re- 
sponse to  the  summons  of  the  threatening  weapon, 
the  man  laid  his  arms  upon  the  ground.  Then  he 
stood  erect,  and,  grinning  in  his  habitual  manner, 
he  waved  an  arm  in  the  direction  of  the  moving 
Indians. 

"  Wal?"  inquired  Seth.  coldly. 

"  I,  Jim  Crow,  come.  I  know  heap.  Fi*  dollar  an* 
I  say." 


324       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Seth  thought  rapidly.  And  the  result  was  another 
sharp  inquiry. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"Fi'  dollar?" 

•'  If  it's  worth  it,  sure,  yes." 

"  It  heap  worth,"  replied  the  scout  readily. 

Seth's  comment  was  short. 

*'  You're  a  durned  scoundrel  anyway." 

But  Jim  Crow  was  quite  unabashed. 

"  See,  it  this,"  he  said,  and  for  the  moment  his 
face  had  ceased  to  grin.  "  I  see  much.  I  learn 
much.  See."  He  waved  an  arm,  comprehensively 
taking  in  the  whole  countryside.  "  White  men  all 
dead — all  kill.  Beacon — it  gone.  Fort — it  gone. 
Farm — all  gone.  So.  Miles  an'  miles.  They  all 
kill.  Soldiers,  come  by  south.  They,  too,  all  kill. 
Indian  man  everywhere.  So.  To-morrow  they  eat 
up  dis  farm.     So.     They  kill  all." 

"  Wal  ?"  Seth  seemed  quite  unconcerned  by  the 
man's  graphic  picture. 

At  once  Jim  Crow  assumed  a  look  of  cunning. 
His  eyes  became  narrower  slits  than  ever. 

"  So,  It  dis  way,"  he  said,  holding  up  a  hand  and 
indicating  each  finger  as  he  proceeded  to  make  his 
points.  "  Black  Fox — him  angry.  Much.  Big  sol- 
dier men  come  from  north.  They  fight — very  fierce, 
an'  tousands  of  'em.  They  drive  Indian  back,  back. 
Indian  man  everywhere  kill.  So.  They  come. 
Chief  him  much  angry.  Him  say,  '  They  come. 
But   I   kill   all  white  men  first.'     So  to-morrow  he 


HARD  PRESSED  325 

burn  the  farm  right  up,  an'  kill  everybody  much 
dead." 

"  And  the  soldiers  are  near  ?  " 

The  white  man's  words  were  coldly  inquiring,  but 
inwardly  it  was  very  different.  A  mighty  hope  was 
surging  through  him.  The  awful  suspense  had  for 
the  moment  dropped  from  his  sickening  heart,  and 
he  felt  like  shouting  aloud  in  his  joy.  The  Indian 
saw  nothing  of  this,  however. 

"  Yes,  they  near.     So.     One  sun." 

Seth  heard  the  news  and  remained  silent.  One  day 
off  !  He  could  hardly  realize  it.  He  turned  away 
and  scanned  the  horizon.     Jim  Crow  grew  impatient. 

"An'  thefi'  dollar?" 

There  was  something  so  unsophisticated  in  the 
man's  rascality  that  Seth  almost  smiled.  He  turned 
on  him  severely,  however. 

"  You've  been  workin'  with  your  countrymen, 
murderin'  an'  lootin',  an'  now  you  see  the  game's  up 
you  come  around  to  me,  ready  to  sell  'em  same  as 
you'd  sell  us.  Say,  you're  a  durned  skunk  of  an  In- 
dian!" 

"Jim  Crow  no  Indian.  I,  Jim  Crow,  scout,"  the 
man  retorted. 

Seth  eyed  him. 

"  I  see.  You  figger  to  git  scoutin'  agin  when  this 
is  through.  Say,  you're  wuss'n  I  thought.  You're 
wuss'n " 

He  broke  off,  struck  with  a  sudden  thought.  In  a 
naoment  he  had  dropped  his  tone  of  severity. 


326      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"See,  I'm  goin'  to  hand  you  twenty  dollars,"  he 
said,  holding  the  other's  shifty  eyes  with  his  own 
steady  gaze,  "if  you've  a  notion  to  earn  'em  an'  act 
squar'.  Say,  I  ken  trust  you  if  I  pay  you.  You 
ain't  like  the  white  Injun,  Nevil  Steyne,  who's  bin 
Black  Fox's  wise  man  so  long.  After  he'd  fixed  the 
mischief  he  gits  around  to  us  an'  turns  on  the  Indi- 
ans. He's  fought  with  us.  An'  he's  goin'  to  fight 
with  us  to-morrow.  He's  a  traitor  to  the  Indians. 
You  belong  to  the  whites,  and  you  come  to  help  us 
when  you  can.  Now,  see  here.  You're  goin'  to 
make  north  hard  as  hell  '11  let  you,  savee?  An' 
if  the  soldiers  git  here  at  sundown  to-morrow  night, 
I'm  goin'  to  give  you  twenty  dollars,  and  I'll  see 
you're  made  head  scout  agin." 

Seth  waited  for  his  answer.  It  came  in  a  great 
tone  of  self-confidence. 

"  I,  Jim  Crow,  make  soldiers  dis  night.     So." 

"  Good.  You  act  squar'.  You  ain't  no  traitor  to 
the  white  man,  same  as  Nevil  Steyne's  traitor  to  the 
Indian,  which  I  guess  Black  Fox  likely  knows  by 
this  time." 

"  Yes.     Black  Fox  know." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE   LAST   STAND 

Sunrise  brought  the  alarm.  The  call  to  arms 
came  in  the  midst  of  breakfast.  But  it  came  to  men 
who  were  discussing  possibilities  with  smiling  faces, 
and  to  women  who  were  no  longer  held  silent  by 
the  dread  of  the  last  few  days.  For  all  had  shared 
in  Seth's  news.  And  if  ever  words  were  graven  on 
the  hearts  of  human  beings,  Seth's  announcement, 
"Troops  are  comin'  from  the  north,"  would  most 
certainly  have  been  found  inscribed  on  the  hearts  of 
the  defenders  of  White  River  Farm. 

The  attack  began  as  the  sun  cleared  the  horizon, 
and  continued  all  day.  Like  the  first  few^  raindrops 
of  a  storm-shower  the  enemy's  bullets  hissed  through 
the  air  or  spattered  upon  the  buildings.  Their  long- 
range  firing  did  little  harm,  for  Indians  are  notori- 
ously bad  marksmen. 

The  sun  mounted  ;  the  hours  crept  by.  The  at- 
tack was  general,  and  each  minute  diminished  the 
enveloping  circle.  The  Indians  had  learned  many 
lessons  during  the  past  six  days,  and  not  the  least  of 
them  the  utter  folly  of  recklessness.  Now  they 
cra\vled  upon  their  bellies  through  the  grass,  offering 
the  smallest  possible  target  to  the  keen-eyed  garri- 
son.    But   even  so  their  death-roll  was  enormous 


328      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

The  plainsmen  held  them  at  their  mercy,  and  it  was 
only  their  vast  numbers  that  gave  them  headway. 
Death  had  no  terrors  for  them.  As  each  man 
drooped  his  head  upon  the  earth  another  was  there 
to  take  his  place ;  and  so  the  advance  was  main- 
tained. 

Noon  drew  near;  the  ever-narrowing  circle  was 
close  upon  the  farm. 

There  was  no  sound  of  voices,  only  the  sharp 
cracking  of  rifles,  or  the  ping  of  bullets  whistling 
through  the  air  as  the  Indians  returned  the  biting 
fire  of  their  intended  victims.  It  was  a  life  and 
death  struggle  against  time,  and  both  besieged  and 
besiegers  knew  it. 

Seth  watched  with  quiet  eyes  but  with  mind  no 
less  anxious  that  he  did  not  show  it.  He  had  no  fixed 
station  like  the  others.  He  moved  here,  there,  and 
everywhere  watching,  watching,  and  encouraging 
with  a  quiet  word,  or  lending  his  aid  with  a  shot 
wherever  pressure  seemed  to  be  greatest. 

Noon  passed.     The  whole   plain  was  now  alive 
with   the   slowly   creeping   foe    stealing    upon   the 
doomed  fort.     The  head  of  the  advance  was  within 
.  three  hundred  yards  of  the  stockade. 

Parker  was  at  Seth's  side.  Both  were  aiming  at 
a  party  of  young  braves,  endeavoring  to  outstrip 
their  fellows  by  a  series  of  short  rushes.  For  some 
moments  they  silendy  picked  them  off,  like  men 
breaking  pipes  in  a  shooting  gallery.  The  last  had 
just  fallen. 


THE  LAST  STAND  329 

"  It's  red-hot  this  time,"  observed  the  Agent,  turn- 
ing his  attention  in  a  fresh  direction.  "  We'll  be 
lucky  if  we  hold  out  until  to-night."  He  was 
blackened  with  perspiration  and  dust.  He  wore 
three  bandoliers  bristling  with  ammunition  over  a 
torn  and  stained  shirt. 

"  Guess  so,"  Seth  replied.  "  This  '11  last  another 
two  hours,  I'm  figgerin',  then  we'll — git  busy." 

A  fresh  rush  had  started  and  the  two  rifles  were 
kept  at  work.  The  Indians  fell  like  ninepins,  but 
there  were  always  more  to  come  on. 

Hargreaves  joined  them  a  moment.  He,  too, 
was  terribly  war-worn.  He  still  wore  his  clerical 
stock,  but  it  had  lost  all  semblance  to  its  original 
shape. 

'*  They're  rushing  us  everywhere,  Seth,"  he  said. 

Seth  replied  while  he  aimed  at  another  daring 
warrior. 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  and  fired. 

Hargreaves  went  back  to  his  post.  There  must 
be  no  waste  of  time.  This  gentle  pastor  had  little 
of  gentleness  about  him  now.  A  good  Christian  in 
every  way,  he  still  had  no  thought  of  turning  the 
other  cheek  when  women  were  in  peril. 

By  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  rush  became 
general.  The  defenders  had  no  time  even  to  keep 
their  rifles  cool.  A  steady  fire  was  kept  up,  and  the 
Indians  were  picked  ofl  like  flies.  But  the  gaps 
were  filled  by  men  beyond  all  description  in  their 
recklessness.     Nothing  could  stem  the  tide.     They 


330      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

drew   nearer  and  nearer  like  the  waters  of  an  on- 
coming sea.     The  end  was  looming.    It  was  very  near. 

Suddenly,  in  response  to  an  order  from  Seth,  some 
of  the  women  left  the  shelter  of  the  house  and 
followed  him.  A  few  minutes  later  the  well  was 
working,  and  a  chain  of  buckets  was  passing  up  to 
the  roof  of  the  house.  A  process  of  saturation  was 
put  into  operation.  The  thatch  was  soaked  until  the 
water  ran  through  the  ceilings. 

While  this  was  going  on  a  cry  came  from  the 
northern  extremity.  The  first  Indian  had  reached 
the  stockade  and  paid  the  penalty  of  his  temerity. 

Now  orders,  swift  and  sharp,  passed  from  lip  to 
lip.  Seth  was  everywhere.  The  battle  would  be  in 
full  swing  in  a  minute. 

Suddenly  Rube  and  Nevil  appeared  from  a  small 
outhouse  rolling  two  large  barrels.  These  were 
stood  on  end  and  the  heads  knocked  out  of  them. 
The  pails  used  for  water  were  requisitioned  ;  a  fresh 
saturation  went  forward ;  this  time  it  was  the  log 
stockade,  and  the  saturation  was  being  performed 
with  coal-oil. 

The  sun  was  already  dropping  over  the  nestern 
horizon  when  a  party  of  the  enemy,  in  face  of  the 
fiercest  fire,  reached  the  defences.  It  was  the 
moment  Seth  had  awaited.  From  the  stockade 
he  called  out  a  sharp  order  to  the  women  in  the 
upper  parts  of  the  house,  and  the  loyal  creatures 
distracted  with  the  nervous  tension  of  inaction 
poured  out  a  deadly  volley. 


THE  LAST  STAND  331 

The  terrible  bombardment  of  short  range  weapons 
had  instant  effect.  The  enemy  fell  back  under  the 
withering  hail.  Headed  by  Seth  a  dozen  men 
mounted  the  ramparts,  and  the  next  instant  the  vast 
corral  formed  a  circle  of  leaping  flame  in  the  faces 
of  the  besiegers.  The  coal-oil  had  done  its  work, 
and  the  resinous  pine  logs  yielded  to  the  demands 
of  those  who  needed  their  service. 

The  defence  was  consummate.  For  the  great 
walls  were  sufficiently  far  from  the  buildings  to 
render  life  possible  within  the  fiery  circle. 

Baffled  and  furious,  the  Indians  fell  back  before  a 
foe  tliey  were  powerless  to  combat.  At  a  respectful 
distance  they  watched  the  conflagration  with  wonder. 
The  magical  abruptness  of  it  filled  them  for  a  mo- 
ment with  superstitious  awe.  But  this  phase  did  not 
last  long. 

The  gates  were  the  weak  spot,  and  they  quickly 
burnt  through.  In  half  an  hour  they  crashed  from 
their  hinges,  and  the  lynx-eyed  foe  beheld  the  breach 
thus  open  before  them.  They  charged  to  the  as- 
sault, while  inside  the  defenders  stood  ready  for  them 
just  beyond  the  range  of  the  fierce  heat. 

Now  was  given  an  example  of  that  strange, 
fanatical  courage  for  which  the  red  man  is  so  famous. 
To  pass  the  breach  was  like  passing  through  a  living 
furnace,  for  the  fire  was  raging  at  its  full  height 
upon  each  side.  There  was  no  hesitation,  no 
shrinking. 

Those  nearest  it  charged  the  opening,  and  as  they 


332       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

came  were  mowed  down  by  the  rities  waiting  for 
them.  Again  and  again  was  the  gateway  besieged, 
and  the  roasting  human  flesh  sent  up  a  nauseous 
reek  upon  the  smoke-laden  air.  Nothing  could 
exceed  the  insensate  fearlessness  of  these  benighted 
creatures,  nothing  the  awful  slaughter  which  the 
white  defenders  dealt  out. 

But  the  superior  intelligence  and  skill  of  the  white 
men  served  them  for  only  a  time  against  the  daring 
horde.  Dozens  rushed  to  the  sacrifice,  but  ever 
there  were  more  behind  asking  for  the  death  of  their 
comrades.  And  inch  by  inch  they  drove  through 
the  opening  to  within  striking  distance.  They  had 
abandoned  their  firearms,  and,  with  hatchet  and 
tomahawk,  their  natural  close-quarter  weapons,  the 
final  struggle  began. 

All  that  had  gone  before  was  as  nothing  to  the 
fight  that  waxed  now.  The  howling  mob  were  within 
the  defences,  and  there  was  only  one  possible  out- 
come. The  position  was  one  of  those  when  the  true 
spirit  of  the  frontiersman  is  at  its  highest  and  grandest 
pitch. 

Gradually  the  riflemen  on  each  flank  dropped 
back  before  the  raging  mob. 

The  rank,  of  which  Rube  was  the  centre,  stood. 
Here  was  no  rifle  practice.  Revolvers  were  at  work 
with  the  rapidity  of  maxim  guns.  As  they  were 
emptied,  they  were  passed  back  and  reloaded  by 
the  women.  But  even  this  was  inadequate  to  hold 
the  mob. 


THE  LAST  STAND  333 

Suddenly  Rube,  prompted  by  that  feeling  which 
is  in  the  heart  of  every  man  of  mighty  muscle, 
abandoned  his  revolver,  and,  clubbing  his  rifle,  re- 
verted to  the  methods  of  the  old  savage.  He  swung 
it  around  his  head  like  a  flail,  and  crashed  it  amongst 
those  direcdy  in  front  of  him.  And  his  action  be- 
came an  example  for  the  rest.  Every  rifle  was 
clubbed,  and  by  sheer  might,  and  desperate  exertion, 
the  defenders  cleared  a  space  before  them.  The 
great  Rube  advanced,  his  rugged  face  fiercely 
alight.  He  could  no  longer  wait  for  attack  ;  he  went 
to  meet  it,  his  giant  form  towering  amidst  the  crowd, 
and  the  rest  following. 

The  scene  was  one  never  to  be  forgotten.  He 
hewed  a  road  for  himself  through  the  living  crush, 
his  rifle  butt  crashing  amongst  heads  recklessly,  in- 
discriminately, but  urged  with  all  the  might  of  his 
g^ant  strength.  Seth  and  the  Agent,  and  Nevil  and 
the  minister  were  his  chief  supporters.  And  there 
was  a  light  in  the  cleric's  eyes,  such  as  had  never 
been  seen  there  before  by  any  of  his  flock,  and  a 
devilish  joy  in  his  heart  as  he  felt  the  concussion  of 
his  blows  upon  heads  that  crushed  beneath  them. 

Back  they  drove  the  howling  throng,  back  toward 
the  fiery  gateway.  It  literally  crumpled  before  their 
furious  attack.  But  as  the  warriors  fell  back  the 
progress  of  the  white  men  slowed  and  finally  ceased 
altogether,  for  the  masses  beyond  were  pressing,  and 
so  packed  were  the  savages  that  they  could  not  re- 
treat 


334      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Darkness  was  settling  over  the  land.  The  Indians 
rallied  as  the  first  iury  of  the  white  men's  onslaught 
spent  itself.  The  red  men,  stern  fighters  at  all  times, 
were  quick  to  seize  upon  the  advantage.  And  their 
counter  was  no  less  furious  than  the  defenders  assault 
had  been.  Step  by  step,  with  hatchets  gleaming  in 
the  yellow  light,  they  regained  their  lost  ground. 

Slowly  the  white  men  were  beaten  back ;  all  but 
Rube,  whose  fury  was  unabated.  He  had  cleared  a 
space  for  himself,  from  which  the  fiercest  eft'orts  of 
the  enemy  could  not  dislodge  him. 

Shouting  to  those  behind  to  care  for  the  women, 
Seth  sprang  to  the  old  man's  side,  and,  setting  his 
back  to  his,  stood  to  help  him.  Retreat  was  cut  off, 
but,  all  unconcerned  for  everything,  like  a  maddened 
bull,  Rube  sought  only  to  slay,  to  crush,  to  add  to 
the  tally  of  the  dying  and  dead. 

How  the  last  moments  of  that  terrible  final  stand 
were  passed,  Seth  could  never  have  toli  His  long 
illness  was  telling  on  him.  His  weakness  affected 
him  sorely.  All  he  was  aware  of  were  his  compan- 
ion's mighty  blows,  and  the  fury  that  was  driving 
him.  That,  and  the  necessity  to  defend  him  on  his 
unprotected  side.  He  fought  as  he  could.  No  skill 
guided  him.  Now,  at  last,  he  had  no  cunning,  and 
he  was  hazily  conscious  of  his  ineffectiveness. 

Once  he  was  forced  to  his  knees  by  the  blow  of  a 
hatchet,  which,  glancing  down  his  clubbed  rifle,  took 
him  in  the  neck  with  its  flat.  It  was  at  that  moment 
that  his  senses  became  aware  of  a  distant  bugle  call 


THE  LAST  STAND  335 

He  scarcely  recognized  it,  and,  certainly,  at  the  mo- 
ment, it  brought  him  no  understanding. 

Instinctively  he  struggled  to  his  feet  and  fought 
on.  Curiously  enough,  a  moment  later,  his  dulled 
senses  made  him  aware  of  a  shudder  passing  over 
his  companion's  frame.  He  knew  that  Rube  stag- 
gered, just  as  he  was  made  aware  that  he  recovered, 
and,  with  a  sudden  access  of  fur}^,  renewed  the  fight. 
He  knew  that  his  friend  had  been  badly  hit,  and  was 
putting  forth  his  last  reserve  of  strength. 

In  the  midst  of  this  last  struggle  he  heard  the  bugle 
again,  but  this  time  it  was  louder.  Its  note  rose  high 
above  the  noise  of  battle,  the  roar  of  the  flames.  But 
even  so,  he  did  not  take  its  meaning  until  he  heard 
a  mighty  cheer  go  up  from  his  comrades  within  the 
defences. 

He  roused  ;  a  great  joy  thrilled  him.  His  head  sud- 
denly became  clear,  and  his  weakness  passed  from  him 
like  the  lifting  of  some  depressing  cloud.  He  found 
himself  able  to  put  forth  a  last  exertion,  and  at  this 
juncture  he  was  somehow  standing  at  Rube's  side, 
instead  of  at  his  back. 

Of  one  accord,  and  without  a  word,  they  charged 
the  howling  mob.  They  smote  with  their  heavy 
rifles  in  every  direction,  shouting  as  they  went,  driv- 
ing all  before  them.  A  mighty  triumph  was  in  Seth's 
heart ;  he  had  no  room  for  anything  else,  no  thought 
for  anything  else.  Even  he  was  blinded  to  the  old 
man's  condition.  It  was  not  until  he  was  joined  by 
the  rest  of  the  defenders,  and  the  Indians  were  wildh' 


336      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

struggling  over  one  another  to  escape  through  the 
still  blazing  gateway,  and  the  old  man  fell  like  a  log 
at  his  side  in  the  midst  of  the  pursuit,  that  he  realized 
what  had  happened.  Rube  was  bleeding  from  a 
gaping  wound  at  the  base  of  his  neck. 

Just  for  one  instant  he  saw  the  gateway  fill  with 
uniformed  horsemen,  then  Seth  fell  on  his  knees  at 
his  foster-father's  side. 

There  was  no  attempt  to  pursue  the  Indians. 
Weary  and  exhausted  the  'ittle  garrison  gathered 
mutely  round  the  fallen  man.  Ma  was  atSeth'sside. 
She  had  raised  her  husband's  head,  and  her  old  gray 
eyes  were  peering  tenderly  anxious  into  his.  While 
she  was  still  supporting  him,  some  one  pushed  a  way 
to  her  side.  One  bare  white  arm  was  thrust  through 
hers,  and  a  hand  was  gently  laid  on  the  old  man's 
rugged  forehead.  Ma  turned  inquiringly  upon  the 
intruder,  and  found  herself  staring  into  a  pair  of  tear- 
ful, violet  eyes. 

"  Rosebud  I "  she  cried.  And  instantly  the  tears 
slowly  rolled  down  her  worn  cheeks,  the  first  tears 
she  had  shed  during  that  last  terrible  week. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE   SENTENCE 

The  relief  of  the  farm  was  really  only  the  begin- 
ning of  the  campaign.  It  meant  that  following  on  its 
heels  the  great  northern  posts  were  pouring  out  their 
thousands  of  troops,  and  that  a  general  advance  was 
in  progress.  It  meant  that  now,  at  last,  but,  alas ! 
too  late  to  avert  the  awful  massacre  of  the  white  set- 
tlers, the  force  was  adequate  to  the  task  of  subjugat- 
ing the  savages. 

The  flying  column  that  had  ridden  to  the  rescue 
was  a  small  band  of  picked  men,  with  a  couple  of 
light  machine  guns.  It  was  composed  of  veteran 
Indian  fighters,  who,  fully  understanding  the  des- 
perate chances  of  thus  cutting  themselves  off  from 
their  supports,  and  riding  into  the  very  jaws  of 
death,  were  yet  ready  to  do  it  again  and  again. 

The  Indians,  believing  this  initial  attack  of  white 
troops  to  be  the  immediate  advance  guard  of  an 
overwhelming  force,  withdrew  in  something  very 
like  panic.  But  with  morning  light  they  realized 
they  had  been  "  bluffed  "  and  at  once  returned  to 
the  attack. 

For  the  defenders,  however,  all  real  anxiety  was 
past     They  knew  that  a  sweeping  movement  was  in 


338      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

progress  throughout  the  whole  disturbed  area,  and 
it  was  only  a  question  of  days  before  the  Indians 
would  be  shepherded  back  to  their  Reservations. 

The  mischief,  however,  was  done,  the  country 
was  devastated.  The  prosperous  farming  region 
was  laid  waste,  and  the  labor  of  years  utterly  des- 
troyed. Of  the  survivors  of  the  awful  holocaust 
the  majority  found  themselves  utterly  ruined  ;  their 
homes  destroyed  ;  their  possessions  gone.  Many 
were  wounded,  and  all  were  homeless.  Their  plight 
was  pitiable. 

While  others  showered  their  praise  and  thanks  and 
rough  compliments  upon  the  girl  who  had  dared  ail 
to  bring  her  friends  the  help  they  so  sorely  needed  ; 
while  old  men  and  young  rivaled  each  other  in 
their  admiration  of  her  reckless  courage ;  while  the 
women  sought  to  minister  to  her,  and  wept  over  her, 
Seth  held  aloof,  working  and  organizing  for  the 
general  comfort  and  well-being  with  that  everlast- 
ing thought  for  others  which  was  so  great  a  part  of 
his  nature. 

It  was  not  that  he  was  indifferent ;  it  was  not  that 
he  had  no  thanks  to  tender.  His  heart  was  full, 
full  to  the  brim  with  pride  for  this  girl  he  loved. 
Hers,  he  felt,  had  been  the  great  foresight,  hers 
the  great  courage  to  carry  out  their  only  possible 
salvation.  When  his  grave  eyes  had  first  fallen 
upon  the  slight  blanketed  figure  of  the  litde  white 
squaw  he  recognized  indeed  the  clever  head  which 
had   done   more    than    trust   to   rash   courage.     It 


THE  SENTENCE  339 

vvould  have  been  impossible  for  him  to  love  her 
more. 

Nevertheless  his  was  the  first  greeting  when  she 
had  been  discovered  in  their  midst.  His  had  been 
the  first  hand  to  grip  hers.  But  there  was  no 
effusion.  Nothing  but  what,  to  strange  ears,  might 
have  sounded  cold  and  wanting. 

"  Thanks,  little  Rosie,"  was  all  he  had  said,  while 
his  hand  held  hers.  But,  at  that  moment,  the  girl 
would  rather  have  foregone  life  itself  than  the 
glance  he  bestowed  upon  her  out  of  his  grave,  dark 
eyes. 

It  was  many  days  before  any  freedom  from  the 
fortress  farm  could  be  enjoyed.  But  at  last  the  time 
came  round  when  the  troops  began  to  converge 
upon  the  Reservations,  and  the  shepherding  process 
swept  the  Indians  to  their  homes,  a  dejected  horde, 
hating  but  cowed  for  the  moment.  As  before,  as 
always,  their  fierce  fires  of  savagery  were  alight ; 
they  were  only  burning  low,  for,  as  every  plainsman 
knows,  they  are  unquenchable. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  news  of  their 
freedom  flew  through  the  camp.  None  but  those 
who  have  passed  through  a  similar  ordeal  can 
realize  the  unutterable  joy  and  thankfulness  that  filled 
each  heart.  Though  possessions  had  gone  and 
many  were  absolutely  ruined,  still  liberty  was  theirs 
at  last.     Liberty  with  its  boundless  possibilities. 

Seth  was  sitting  alone,  propped  against  the 
charred   gate-post  of  the  stockade.     He  was  smok- 


340      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

ing  and  resting,  and  incidentally  thinking  deeply 
after  a  long  day's  work.  There  was  much  to  think 
about.  Rube  was  slowly  recovering  under  the  care- 
ful hands  of  his  devoted  wife.  Mrs.  Rickards  and 
Rosebud  had  relieved  the  farmwife  of  all  her  duties 
that  she  might  be  free  to  lavish  her  utmost  care 
upon  her  staunch  old  friend  and  husband.  The 
future  prospects  of  the  farm  were  less  involved  than 
the  affairs  of  most  of  the  farmers.  The  setback  of 
the  rebellion  was  tremendous,  but  years  of  thrift  had 
left  White  River  Farm  independent  of  a  single  year's 
crops.  Besides  the  farmhouse  and  buildings  were 
intact. 

But  none  of  these  things  was  in  his  mind  just 
now.  There  was  something  else  which  filled  his 
heart  with  unutterable  bitterness,  which  revealed 
itself  in  the  hard,  thoughtful  stare  of  his  dark  eyes  as 
he  gazed  out  upon  the  wide  encampment  of  soldiers 
spreading  itself  out  in  all  directions. 

Every  now  and  then  he  shifted  his  gaze  into  a 
certain  direction,  only  to  turn  away  with  apparent 
indifference  and  let  his  eyes  wander  over  every 
chance  object  that  attracted  them.  Once  the  Agent 
came  to  him  and  they  spoke  for  some  moments  in  a 
low  tone.  Then  he  was  again  left  to  his  thoughts. 
The  sun  dipped  below  the  horizon,  and  the  twilight 
waned.  He  remained  at  his  post.  There  could  be 
no  doubt  now  that  he  was  waiting  with  some  fixed 
purpose. 

At  last  he  turned  decidedly  in   the  direction  in 


THE  SENTENCE  341 

^hich  he  had  been  so  frequently  glancing,  and  this 
time  his  movement  was  anticipatory.  A  dark,  figure 
was  approaching  from  among  the  tents.  It  was 
the  scout,  Jim  Crow,  who  came  up  and  squatted 
at  the  white  man's  side.  The  two  talked  together 
for  a  long  time,  and  at  last  the  Indian  rose  to  de- 
part. 

"  So,"  he  said,  in  his  pompous  fashion,  "  I  do  these 
things.     I,  Jim  Crow.     Good." 

"  You've  done  good  work,"  Seth  responded 
casually.  "  And  you've  been  paid  for  it,  I  guess. 
See  you  do  this,  sure." 

He  watched  the  Indian  while  he  solemnly  spat 
upon  the  ground. 

"  I,  Jim  Crow,  have  said."  And  with  this  vaunt- 
ing claim  to  honesty  the  scout  abruptly  turned  and 
moved  away, 

A  moment  later  Seth  made  his  way  slowly  to  a 
small  outhouse.  He  raised  the  latch  of  the  door  and 
passed  within.  There  were  two  occupants.  The 
Indian  Agent  was  sitting  at  a  little  table  smoking 
and  reading,  and  Nevil  Steyne  was  lying  full  length 
upon  some  outspread  blankets  upon  the  floor. 
This  place  was  the  temporary  abode  of  the  three 
men.  The  farmhouse  had  been  given  up  to  the 
women  and  children. 

Seth  took  a  seat.  As  he  came  in  Parker  closed 
his  book  and  put  it  away.  From  his  blankets  Nevil 
glanced  up  quickly,  and  continued  to  watch  the 
movements  of  both  with  expectant  eyes.     He  was 


342      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

aware  that  permission  had  been  given  for  every  one 
to  leave  the  farm.  Nor  did  he  delude  himself.  He 
knew  that  he  was  a  prisoner. 

Seth  placed  his  chair  so  that  he  was  in  full  view 
of  the  man  on  the  blankets.  And  his  first  words 
were  addressed  to  him. 

'•  Guess  you're  goin'  to  quit  this  farm,"  he  said, 
calmly,  but  in  a  manner  which  compelled  his  prison- 
er's attention.  "  I've  thought  a  heap,  an'  that's  how 
I've  got  figgerin'.  You're  goin'  to  quit  this  night. 
That  is  ef  you're  so  minded." 

He  paused,  but  his  grave  eyes  still  surveyed  the 
ungainly  form,  still  stared  coldly  into  the  lean  un- 
shaven face,  into  the  shifty  pale  eyes.  Nevil  made 
no  response.  He  knew  instinctively  that  this  was 
only  a  prelude  to  more  that  was  to  follow. 

Parker  watched  Seth,  In  a  measure  he  was 
mystified,  for  the  plainsman  had  never  given  him  his 
full  confidence  with  regard  to  Nevil.  He  suspected 
a  lot,  but  that  was  all. 

"  Guess  I  don't  need  to  tell  you  a  deal  about  your- 
self," Seth  went  on  presently.  "  I'll  just  mention 
that  Nevil  Steyne  ain't  3'our  real  name,  an'  it 
wouldn't  take  me  guessin'  long  to  locate  the  other. 
That's  as  mebbe.  You're  a  skunk,"  he  proceeded, 
without  raising  his  voice.  "  You're  wuss'n  a  yaller 
dawg,  but  even  a  yaller  dawg  mostly  has  an  option. 
That's  how  it  is  wi'  you,  seein'  you're  o'  that  breed. 
I  ain't  no  feelin'  o'  mercy  for  you  anyways,  but  I'll 
give  you  a  chance.     Ef  you  stay  right  here  ther's 


THE  SENTENCE  343 

the  courts  as  '11  hang  you  sure ;  ef  you  quit,  ther's 
the  Injuns  as  you've  lived  by,  an'  as  you  fooled 
to  suit  your  own  dirty  schemes.  I  don't  see 
as  ther's  a  great  choice  for  you.  Your  game's 
played,  an'  you're  goin'  to  cash  in,  an'  it  kind  o' 
seems  to  me  you've  got  to  pay  anyways.  Wai, 
you'll  choose  right  now." 

Nevil  had  sat  up  while  the  other  was  speaking. 
He  gave  no  outward  sign  beyond  that  one  move- 
ment. Now  he  slowly  rose  to  his  feet  and  looked 
down  upon  the  set  face  of  the  arbiter  of  his  fate  a 
little  uncertainly.  He  turned  from  him  to  the  Agent, 
who  was  looking  on  in  no  little  puzzlement.  Then 
his  eyes  came  back  to  the  relentless  face  of  Seth,  and 
he  seemed  to  be  struggling  to  penetrate  the  sphinx- 
like expression  he  beheld. 

He  scented  danger,  he  knew  there  was  danger. 
But  even  so  his  mind  was  made  up.  He  would  not 
face  the  jury  of  his  white  brothers.  Ke  believed  he 
understood  the  Indians,  and  saw  chances  in  this 
direction.  But  there  was  the  wonder  why  Seth  had 
given  him  the  chance.  He  had  no  time  to  debate 
the  question.     His  answer  was  needed. 

"  I'll  go  back  to  the  Indians,"  he  said,  with  a  hate- 
ful laugh,  in  which  there  was  no  semblance  of  mirth. 
^'  As  you  suggest,  a  yellow  dog  can  always  run  for  it" 

"Jest  so.     It  ken  alius  run." 

Then  the  full  bitterness  of  his  position  swept  over 
the  renegade,  and  a  deep  rage  stirred  the  hatred  he 
held  for  this  man  who   had  outwitted  him  at  every 


344      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

turn,  and  now  was  in  a  position  to  pronounce  sen- 
tence upon  him.  And  his  words  came  low  with 
concentrated  fury. 

"  Yes,  blast  you,  you  can  sneer !  But  I  tell  you 
you're  making  a  mistake.  I  can  twist  the  Indians 
around  my  finger.  Bah,  I  care  nothing  for  them  !  I 
shall  get  clear  and  save  myself,  and,  as  sure  as 
there's  a  hell  for  the  damned,  you  shall  pay ! " 

But  the  man  he  addressed  remained  undisturbed. 
His  manner  was  imperturbable.     He  nodded  gravely. 

"  Good,"  he  said.     "  Now  git — git  quick  !  " 

And  the  man  who  posed  as  Nevil  Steyne  passed 
out  of  the  hut  and  out  of  the  fort,  urged  almost  to 
precipitancy  by  the  suggestion  of  Seth's  final  com- 
mand. 

After  his  going  silence  reigned  in  the  little  corn 
shed.  Parker  had  a  hundred  questions  to  ask,  but 
none  of  them  came  readily  to  his  lips  in  face  of  his 
companion's  silence.  In  the  end  it  was  Seth  who 
spoke  first. 

"  Wal,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh,  "  that's  settled."  His 
words  were  an  expression  of  relief. 

"  I  don't  understand.  You've  let  him  go.  You've 
given  him  a  chance  to  get  away  in  safety  after " 

"  Yes,"  responded  the  other  grimly,  "  a  dawg's 
chance." 

The  answer  silenced  all  further  protest 

"Yes,"  Seth  went  on  reflectively,  "  I've  done  with 
him,  I  guess  ;  we  all  have.  Say,  he's  Rosebud's 
uncle." 


THE  SENTENCE  343 

"  Ah  I "  Parker  was  beginning  to  understand. 
But  he  was  not  yet  satisfied,  and  his  ejaculation  was 
an  invitation  to  the  other. 

Seth  went  on  as  though  in  soliloquy. 

"  Yes.  He's  gone,  an'  ther'  ain't  no  tellin'  where 
he'll  finish.  Ther's  a  hell  some'eres.  Mebbe  he 
ken  twist  'em,  the  Injuns,  around  his  finger,  mebbe 
he  can't.  I  'lows  he  goin'  to  face  'em.  They'll  deal 
out  by  him  as  they  notion  justice,  I  guess." 

"  But  he  may  escape  them.  He's  slippery." 
Parker  hated  the  thought  of  the  man  going  scot- 
free. 

Seth  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  He'll  face  'em.  I've  seen  to 
that,  I  guess.  Jim.  Crow  follers  him  wherever  he 
goes.  An'  Jim  Crow  hain't  no  use  for  Stephen 
Raynor." 

"  What  do  you  think  will  happen  ?  " 

Parker  looked  up  into  the  taller  man's  face  as  they 
stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  hut. 

Seth  turned.  His  shoulders  shrugged  expressively 
as  he  moved  out  and  walked  toward  the  farmhouse. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

WANAHA  THE   INDIAN 

The  moon  at  its  full  shone  down  upon  a  scene  oi 
profound  silence.  Its  silvery  rays  overpowered  the 
nniilder  starry  sheen  of  the  heavens.  The  woods  upon 
the  banks  of  the  White  River  were  tipped  with  a 
hard,  cold  burnish,  but  their  black  depths  remained 
unyielding.     All  was  still — so  still. 

Thousands  of  Indians  are  awaiting  in  silent,  stub- 
born hatred  the  morrow's  sentence  of  their  white 
shepherds.  A  deep  passion  of  hatred  and  revenge 
lies  heavy  on  their  tempestuous  hearts  ;  and  upon 
the  heart  of  their  warlike  chieftain  most  of  all. 

The  heart  that  beats  within  the  Indian  bosom  is 
invincible.  It  is  beyond  the  reach  of  sympathy,  as 
it  is  beyond  the  reach  of  fear.  It  stands  alone  in  its 
devotion  to  warlike  brutality.  Hatred  is  its  supreme 
passion,  just  as  fearlessness  is  its  supreme  virtue. 
And  hatred  and  revenge  are  moving  to-night — mov- 
ing under  the  calm  covering  of  apparent  peace ; 
moving  now  lest  the  morrow  should  put  it  beyond 
the  power  of  the  red  man  to  mete  out  the  full  meas- 
ure of  his  lust  for  native  savagery.  And  so  at  last 
there  comes  a  breaking  of  the  perfect  peace  of  night. 

A  dark  figure  moves  out  of  the  depths  of  the 


WANAHA  THE  INDIAN  347 

woods.  It  moves  slowly  toward  the  log  hut  of  Nevil 
Stevne.  It  pauses  at  a  distance  and  surveys  the  dim 
outline  against  the  woodland  backing. 

Another  figure  movies  out  from  the  woods,  and  a 
moment  later  another  and  yet  another ;  and  each 
figure  follows  in  the  track  of  the  foremost,  and  they 
stand  talking  in  low  murmurs.  Thus  twenty-five 
blanketed  figures  are  gathered  before  the  hut  of  the 
white  renegade.  They  are  Indians,  hoar^^-headed 
patriarchs  of  their  race,  but  glowing  with  the  fierce 
spirit  of  youth  in  their  sluggish  hearts. 

Presently  they  file  away  one  by  one,  and  it  be- 
comes apparent  that  each  old  man  is  well  armed. 
They  spread  out  and  form  themselves  into  a  wide 
circle,  which  slowly  closes  in  upon  the  hut.  Then 
each  decrepit  figure  huddles  itself  down  upon  its 
haunches,  Ake  some  bald-headed  vulture  settling 
with  heavily  flapping  wings  upon  its  prey. 

Sleep  has  not  visited  the  eyes  of  those  within  the 
hut.  When  things  go  awry  with  those  who  live  by 
double-dealing,  sleep  does  not  come  easily.  Nevil 
Steyne  is  awake,  and  his  faithful  wife  keeps  him 
company. 

The  interior  of  the  hut  is  dismantled.  Bundles  of 
furnishings  lie  scattered  about  on  the  floor.  It  is 
plain  that  this  is  to  be  the  last  night  which  these  two 
intend  to  spend  in  the  log  hut  which  has  sheltered 
them  so  long. 

The  squaw  is  lying  fully  dressed  upon  the  bed,  and 
the  man   is  sitting  beside   her  smoking.     They  ar*» 


348       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

talking,  discussing  eagerly  that  which  has  held  the 
man's  fev-^erish  interest  the  whole  night. 

There  is  no  kindness  in  the  man's  tone  as  he 
speaks  to  the  woman.  He  is  beset  with  a  fear  he 
cannot  conceal.  It  is  in  his  tone,  it  is  in  his  eyes,  it 
is  in  his  very  restlessness. 

The  woman  is  calm.  She  is  an  Indian,  and  in  her 
veins  runs  the  blood  of  generations  of  great  chiefs. 
Fear  has  no  place  in  her  heart,  but  her  devotion  to 
her  man  makes  her  anxious  for  him.  Her  slow,  la- 
bored use  of  his  language  is  meant  to  encourage 
him,  but  he  takes  no  comfort  from  it.  His  utter 
selfishness,  his  cowardice,  place  him  beyond  mere 
verbal  encouragement. 

"  It  still  wants  two  hours  to  dawn,"  Nevil  ex- 
claimed, referring  to  his  watch  for  about  the  twen- 
tieth time  in  the  last  hour.  "  God,  how  the  time 
hangs  1 " 

The  w^oman's  dark  eyes  were  upon  his  nervous 
face.  She  noted  the  anxious  straining  of  his  shifty 
eves.  Their  whites  were  bloodshot,  and  his  brows 
were  drawn  together  in  the  painful  concentration  of 
a  mind  fixed  upon  one  thought. 

"  It  will  pass,"  she  said,  with  all  the  hopefulness 
she  could  express. 

"  Of  course  it  will.  Do  you  suppose  I  don't 
know?"  The  man  spoke  with  harsh  irritation. 
"  You — you  don't  seem  to  understand." 

"Wanaha  understands."  The  squaw  nodded. 
Then  she,  too,  gave  way  to  a  slight  irritation.     "  Why 


WANAHA  THE  INDIAN  345 

you  not  sleep,  my  Nevil?  Wanaha  watch.  It  a 
long  journey.  Sleep,  my  husband.  You  fear  fool- 
ish.    So." 

The  man  turned  scornful  eyes  in  her  direction,  and 
for  a  moment  did  not  speak.  Then  presently  he 
said  — 

*'  Sometimes  I  think  it's  unnecessary  for  us  to  go. 
I  can't  make  up  my  mind.  I  never  had  such  dif- 
ficulty in  seeing  clearly  before.  Your  brother  was  so 
quiet  and  calm.  He  spoke  so  generously.  I  told 
him  the  whole  story.  How  I  was  forced  by  that 
damned  Seth  to  go  into  the  fort.  And  how  I  was 
forced  to  fight.  Pshaw  !  what's  the  use  of  talking  ? 
I've  told  you  all  this  already.  Yet  he  listened  to  all 
I  had  to  say,  and  as  I  made  each  point  he  nodded 
in  that  quiet,  assured  way  of  his — you  know.  I 
think  he  understood  and  was  satisfied.  I  think  so — 
and  yet — it's  no  use,  I  can't  be  sure.  I  wish  he'd 
lost  his  temper  in  his  usual  headstrong  way.  I  un- 
derstand him  when  he  is  like  that.  But  he  didn't. 
He  was  very  calm. 

"  Do  you  know,  my  Wana,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
he'd  heard  my  story  before,  told  by  some  one  else, 
probably  told  with  variations  to  suit  themselves.  It 
seemed  to  me  that — well,  he  was  only  listening  to 
me  because  he  had  to.  I  swear  I'd  give  ten  years 
of  my  life  to  know  what  he  really  thinks.  Yes,  I 
think  I'm  right.  Once  away  from  here  we  are  safe. 
Neither  he  nor  any  of  the  braves  can  follow  us.  The 
soldiers  will   see  that   none  leave  the   Reservations. 


350       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Yes,  I'm  sure  it's  best  to  get  away.  It  can  do  no 
harm,  and  it's  best  to  be  sure.  Still  an  hour  and  three- 
quarters,"  he  finished  up,  again  referring  to  his  watch. 

"  Yes,  it  best  so,"  the  woman  said  in  reply.  She 
understood  the  condition  of  her  husband's  mind. 
She  saw  clearly  that  she  must  humor  him. 

Whatever  her  innermost  thoughts  may  have  been 
she  made  her  replies  subservient  to  his  humor.  She 
had  listened  closely  to  his  account  of  his  interview 
with  her  brother,  and  there  is  little  doubt  that 
she  had  formed  her  own  opinion,  and,  being  of  the 
blood  of  the  chief,  she  probably  understood  him  bet- 
ter than  this  white  man  did.  But  whatever  she  really 
thought  no  word  of  it  escaped  her. 

Another  silence  fell.  Again  it  was  the  man  who 
broke  it. 

•'  That  Jim  Crow  is  very  active.  He  comes  and 
goes  all  day.  He  interviews  Little  Black  Fox  when- 
ever he  pleases.  He's  a  two-faced  rascal.  Do  you 
know,  it  was  he  who  brought  the  news  of  relief  to  the 
farm.  And  what's  more,  he  came  in  with  the  sol- 
diers. I  always  seem  to  see  him  about.  Once  I 
thought  he  was  watching  my  movements.  I  wonder 
why?" 

The  man  drooped  dejectedly  as  he  tried  to  unravel 
this  fresh  tangle.  Why  was  Jim  Crow  shadowing 
him  ?  In  the  interests  of  the  Indians  ?  Again  he 
pulled  out  his  watch.  And  the  woman  beside  him 
saw  that  his  hand  was  shaking  as  he  held  it  out  to 
the  light  of  the  stove. 


WANAHA  THE  INDIAN  351 

It  was  time  to  hitch  up  his  horses,  he  said.  Yet 
they  were  not  starting  until  dawn,  and  it  still  wanted 
a  full  hour  to  the  time. 

Wanaha  sat  up,  and  Nevil  moved  about  amongst 
the  litter  of  their  belongings.  There  was  coffee  on 
the  stove  and  food  on  the  table.  He  helped  himself 
to  both,  bolting  meat  and  drink  in  a  nervous,  hasty- 
manner.  Wanaha  joined  him.  She  ate  sparingly, 
and  then  began  to  gather  their  goods  together. 

Nevil  turned  to  her.  He  was  preparing  to  fetch 
the  horses  which  were  picketed  out  on  the  prairie. 
He  was  in  better  mood  now.  Action  restored  in  him 
a  certain  amount  of  confidence. 

"  It  will  be  good  to  get  away,  my  Wana,"  he 
said,  for  a  moment  laying  one  hand  upon  her 
shoulder. 

The  woman  looked  up  into  his  mean  face  with  a 
world  of  love  in  her  profound  eyes. 

"  It  good  to  be  with  you — anywhere,  my  Nevil," 
she  said,  in  her  quiet  way. 

The  man  turned  to  the  door. 

He  raised  the  latch  and  threw  it  open.  He  stood 
speechless.  A  panic  was  upon  him  ;  he  could  not 
move,  he  could  not  think.  Little  Black  Fox  was 
standing  in  the  doorway,  and,  behind  him,  two  of 
his  war-councilors  leaning  on  their  long,  old-fashioned 
rifles. 

Without  a  word,  the  chief,  followed  by  his  two  at- 
tendants, stepped  within.  The  door  was  closed 
again.     Then  Little  Black  Fox  signed  to  Wanaha 


352      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

tor  a  light.  The  squaw  took  the  oil-lamp  from  a 
shelf  and  lit  it,  and  the  dull,  yellow  rays  revealed  the 
disorder  of  the  place. 

The  chief  gazed  about  him.  His  handsome  face 
was  unmoved.  Finall}^  he  looked  into  the  face  of  the 
terror-stricken  renegade.  Nevil  was  tall,  but  he  was 
d\^'arfed  by  the  magnificent  carriage  and  superb  fig- 
ure of  the  savage. 

It  was  the  chief  who  was  the  first  to  speak.  The 
flowing  tongue  of  the  Sioux  sounded  melodious  in 
the  rich  tones  of  the  speaker's  voice.  He  spoke 
without  a  touch  of  the  fiery  eloquence  which  had 
been  his  when  he  was  yet  the  untried  leader  of  his 
race.  The  man  seemed  to  have  suddenly  matured. 
He  was  no  longer  the  headstrong  boy  that  had  con- 
ceived an  overwhelming  passion  for  a  white  girl,  but 
a  warrior  of  his  race,  a  warrior  and  a  leader. 

"  My  brother  would  go  from  his  friends  ?  So  ?  " 
he  said  in  feigned  surprise.  "  And  my  sister,  Wan- 
aha?" 

"  Wanaha  obeys  her  lord.  Whither  he  goes  she 
goes.     It  is  good." 

The  squaw  was  alive  to  the  position,  but,  unlike 
her  white  husband,  she  rose  to  the  occasion.  The 
haughty  manner  of  the  chief  was  no  more  haughty 
than  hers.  She  was  blood  of  this  man,  and  no  less 
royal  than  he.  Her  deep  eyes  were  alert  and  shin- 
ing now.  The  savage  was  dominant  in  her  again. 
She  was,  indeed,  a  princess  of  her  race. 

"  And   whither  would  they  go,  this  white  brother 


WANAHA  THE  INDIAN  353 

and  his  squaw?"  There  was  a  slight  irony  in  the 
Indian's  voice. 

Again  the  squaw  answered. 

•'  We  go  where  white  men  and  Indians  live  in 
peace." 

"  No  white  man  or  Indian  lives  in  peace  where  he 
goes." 

Litde  Black  Fox  pointed  scornfully  at  the  cower- 
ing white  man.  The  squaw  had  no  answer  ready. 
But  the  renegade  himself  found  his  tongue  and  an- 
swered. 

"  We  go  undl  the  white  man's  anger  is  passed," 
he  said.  "Then  we  return  to  the  great  chief's 
camp." 

For  a  while  the  young  chieftain's  eyes  seemed  to 
burn  into  those  of  the  man  before  him,  so  intense 
was  the  angry  fire  of  his  gaze. 

"  You  go,"  he  said  at  last,  "  because  you  fear  to 
stay.  It  is  not  the  white  man  you  fear,  but  the 
Indian  you  have  betrayed.  Your  tongue  lies,  your 
heart  lies.  You  are  neither  brave  nor  squaw-man. 
Your  heart  is  the  heart  of  a  snake  that  is  filled  with 
venom.  Your  brain  is  like  the  mire  of  the  muskeg 
which  sucks,  sucks  its  victims  down  to  destruction. 
Your  blood  is  like  the  water  of  a  mosquito  swamp, 
poisonous  even  to  the  air.  I  have  eyes:  I  have 
ears.  I  learn  all  these  things,  and  I  say  nothing. 
The  hunter  uses  a  poisoned  weapon.  It  matters  not 
so  that  he  brings  down  his  quarry.  But  his  weapon 
is  for  his  quarry,  and  not  for  himself.     He  destroys 


354      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

it  when  there  is  danger  that  he  shall  get  hurt  by  it 
You  are  a  poisoned  weapon,  and  you  have  sought 
to  hurt  me.     So." 

Wanaha  suddenly  stepped  forward.  Her  great 
eyes  blazed  up  into  her  brother's. 

"The  great  chief  wrongs  my  man.  All  he  has 
done  he  was  forced  to  do.  His  has  been  the  heart 
to  help  you.  His  has  been  the  hand  to  help  you. 
His  has  been  the  brain  to  plan  for  you.  So.  The 
others  come.  They  take  him  prisoner.  He  must 
fight  for  them  or  die." 

"Then  if  he  fights  he  is  traitor.  So  he  must 
die." 

Nevil  had  no  word  for  himself.  He  was  beyond 
words.  Even  in  his  extremity  he  remembered  what 
Seth  had  said  to  him.  And  he  knew  now  that  Seth's 
knowledge  of  the  Indians  was  greater,  far  deeper, 
than  his.  This  was  his  "  dog's  chance,"  but  he  had 
not  even  the  privilege  of  a  run. 

The  irony  of  his  lot  did  not  strike  him.  Crimes 
which  he  had  been  guilty  of  had  nothing  to  do  with 
his  present  position.  Instead,  he  stood  arraigned 
for  a  treachery  which  had  not  been  his,  toward  the 
one  man  to  whom  he  had  ever  been  faithful. 

But  while  his  craven  heart  wilted  before  his  savage 
judge  ;  while  his  mind  was  racked  with  tortures  of 
suspense,  and  his  scheming  brain  had  lost  its  power 
of  concentration  ;  while  his  limbs  shook  at  the  pre- 
sentiment of  his  doom,  his  woman  stood  fearless  at 
his  side,  ready  to  serve  him  to  the  bitter  end,  ready 


WANAHA  THE  INDIAN  355 

to  sacrifice  herself  if  need  be  that  his  wretched  Hfe 
might  be  saved. 

Now  she  repHed  to  her  brother's  charge,  with  her 
beautiful  head  erect  and  her  bosom  heaving. 

"No  man  is  coward  who  serves  you  as  he  has 
served  you,"  she  cried,  her  eyes  confronting  her 
brother's  with  all  the  fearless  pride  of  her  race. 
"  The  coward  is  the  other.  The  one  who  turns 
upon  his  friend  and  helper  when  misfortune 
drives." 

The  words  stung  as  they  were  meant  to  sting. 
And  something  of  the  old  headstrong  passion  leapt 
into  the  young  chief's  heart.  He  pointed  at  his 
sister. 

"  Enough  !  "  he  cried  ;  and  a  movement  of  the 
head  conveyed  a  command  to  his  attendants.  They 
stepped  forward.  But  Wanaha  was  quicker.  She 
met  them,  and,  with  upraised  hand,  waved  them 
back  in  a  manner  so  imperious  that  they  paused. 

•'  Litde  Black  Fox  forgets  ! "  she  cried,  address- 
ing herself  to  her  brother,  and  ignoring  the  war- 
councilors.  "  No  brave  may  lay  hand  upon  the 
daughter  of  my  father.  Little  Black  Fox  is  chief. 
My  blood  is  his  blood.  By  the  laws  of  our  race  his 
is  the  hand  that  must  strike.  The  daughter  of  Big 
Wolf  awaits.     Let  my  brother  strike." 

As  she  finished  speaking  Wanaha  bowed  her  head 
in  token  of  submission.  But  for  all  his  rage  the 
chief  was  no  slayer  of  his  womenfolk.  The  ready- 
witted   woman   understood  the  lofty  Indian  spirit  of 


356      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

her  brother.  She  saw  her  advantage  and  meant  to 
hold  it.  She  did  not  know  what  she  hoped.  She 
did  not  pause  to  think.  She  had  a  woman's  desire 
to  gain  time  only.  And  as  she  saw  her  brother 
draw  back  she  felt  that,  for  the  moment  at  least,  she 
was  mistress  of  the  situation. 

"  So,"  she  went  on,  raising  her  head  again  and 
proudly  confronting  the  angry-eyed  youth,  "  my 
brother,  even  in  his  wrath,  remembers  the  law  of  our 
race.  Let  him  think  further,  and  he  will  also  re- 
member other  things.  Let  him  say  to  himself,  '  I 
may  not  slay  this  man  while  my  sister,  Wanaha, 
Uves.  She  alone  has  power  to  strike.  The  council 
of  chiefs  may  condemn,  but  she  must  be  the  exe- 
cutioner.' So  !  And  my  brother  will  be  in  the  right, 
for  Wanaha  is  the  blood  of  Big  Wolf,  and  the  white 
man  is  her  husband." 

The  headstrong  chief  was  baffled.  He  knew  that 
the  woman  was  right.  The  laws  of  the  Sioux  race 
were  as  she  had  said.  And  they  were  so  stringent 
that  it  would  be  dangerous  to  set  them  aside,  even 
though  this  man's  death  had  been  decided  upon  by 
the  unanimous  vote  of  the  council.  He  stood  irres- 
olute, and  Wanaha  added  triumph  to  her  tone  as 
she  went  on. 

"  So,  great  chief,  this  man's  life  is  mine.  And  I, 
Wanaha,  your  sister,  refuse  to  take  it.  For  me  he 
is  free." 

But  Wanaha  in  her  womanish  enthusiasm  had 
overshot  her  mark.     The  laws  were  strong,  but  this 


WANAHA  THE  INDIAN  357 

vt'ild  savage's  nature  was  as  untamed  and  fearless  as 
any  beast  of  the  field.  It  was  her  tone  of  triumph 
that  undid  her. 

Little  Black  Fox  suddenly  whipped  out  a  long 
hunting-knife  from  his  belt  and  flung  it  upon  the 
table  with  a  great  clatter.  It  lay  there,  its  vicious, 
gleaming  blade  shining  dully  in  the  yellow  lamp- 
light. 

"  See ! "  he  cried,  his  voice  thick  with  fury. 
"  Have  your  rights !  I  go.  With  the  first  streak 
of  dawn  I  come  again.  Then  I  slay  1  Wanaha 
shall  die  by  my  hand,  and  then  she  has  no  right  to 
the  life  of  the  white  man  ! " 

The  first  streak  of  dawn  lit  the  eastern  sky.  The 
horses  were  grazing,  tethered  to  their  picket  ropes 
within  view  of  the  log  hut  down  by  the  river.  The 
wagon  stood  in  its  place  at  the  side  of  the  building. 
There  was  no  firelight  to  be  seen  within  the  building, 
no  lamplight. 

The  circle  of  silent  squatting  figures  still  held  their 
vigil. 

As  the  daylight  grew  three  figures  emerged  from 
the  woods  and  moved  silendy  to  the  door  of  the 
hut.  They  paused,  listening,  but  no  sound  came 
from  within.  One,  much  taller  than  his  companions, 
reached  out  and  raised  the  latch.  The  door  swung 
open.  He  paused  again.  Then  he  stepped  across 
the  threshold. 

The  new-bom  day  cast  a  gray  twilight  over  the 


358       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

interior.  The  man  sniffed,  like  a  beast  of  prey  scent 
ing  the  trail  of  blood.  And  that  which  came  to  his 
nostrils  seemed  to  satisfy  him,  for  he  passed  within 
and  strode  to  the  bedside.  He  stood  for  a  few  mo- 
ments gazing  down  at  the  figures  of  a  man  and  a 
woman  locked  in  each  other's  arms. 

He  looked  long  and  earnestly  upon  the  calm  fea- 
tures of  the  faces  so  closely  pressed  together.  There 
was  no  pity,  no  remorse  in  his  heart,  for  life  and 
death  were  matters  which  touched  him  not  at  all. 
War  was  as  the  breath  of  his  nostrils. 

Presently  he  moved  away.  There  was  nothing  to 
keep  him  there.  These  two  had  passed  together  to 
the  shores  of  the  Happy  Hunting  Ground.  They 
had  lived  and  died  together.  They  would — per- 
haps— awake  together.  But  not  on  the  prairies  of 
the  West. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE   CAPITULATION 

"  I'd  like  to  know  how  it's  all  going  to  end." 

Mrs.  Rickards  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  perplexity  and 
looked  helplessly  over  at  Ma,  who  was  placidly 
knitting  at  her  husband's  bedside.  The  farmwife's 
bright  face  had  lost  nothing  of  its  comeliness  in  spite 
of  the  anxieties  through  which  she  had  so  recently 
passed.  Her  twinkling  eyes  shone  cheerily  through 
her  glasses,  and  the  ruddy  freshness  of  her  com- 
plexion was  still  fair  to  see.  A  line  or  two,  perhaps, 
had  deepened  about  her  mouth,  and  the  grayness 
of  her  hair  may  have  become  a  shade  whiter.  But 
these  things  were  hardly  noticeable. 

The  change  in  Rosebud's  aunt  was  far  more  pro- 
nounced. She  had  taken  to  herself  something  of 
the  atmosphere  of  the  plains-folk  in  the  few  weeks 
of  her  stay  at  the  farm.  And  the  subde  change  had 
improved  her. 

Rube  was  mending  fast,  and  the  two  older  women 
now  spent  all  their  spare  time  in  his  company. 

Ma  looked  up  from  her  work. 

"  Rube  an'  me  have  been  discussin'  it,"  she  said. 
"  Guess  we've  settled  to  leave  the  farm,  an'  buy  a 
9ew  place  around  some  big  city.     I   don't  rightly 


36o      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

know  how  the  boy  '11  take  it.  Y'  see,  Seth's  mighty 
hard  to  change,  an'  he's  kind  o'  fixed  on  this  place, 
Y'  see,  he's  young,  an'  Rube  an'  me's  had  a  longish 
spell.  We'd  be  pleased  to  take  it  easy  now.  Eh, 
old  man?" 

Ma  glanced  affectionately  at  the  mighty  figure 
filling  up  the  bed.     The  man  nodded. 

"  Y'  see,  things  don't  seem  hard  till  you  see  your 
old  man's  blood  runnin',"  she  went  on.  ''  Then — 
well,  I  guess  I  ain't  no  more  stummick  fer  fight. 
I'd  be  thankful  to  God  A'mighty  to  end  my  days 
peaceful." 

Mrs.  Rickards  nodded  sympathetically. 

"  You're  quite  wise,"  she  said.  "  It  seems  to  me 
you've  earned  a  rest.  The  courage  and  devotion 
of  all  you  dear  people  out  here  have  been  a  wonder- 
ful education  to  me.  Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Sampson, 
I  never  knew  what  life  really  meant  until  I  came 
amongst  you  all.  The  hope,  and  love,  and  sym- 
pathy on  this  prairie  are  something  to  marvel  at.  I 
can  understand  a  young  girl's  desire  to  return  to  it 
after  once  having  tasted  it.  Even  for  me  it  has  its 
fascinations.  The  claims  of  civilization  fall  from  one 
out  here  in  a  manner  that  makes  me  wonder.  I 
don't  know  yet  but  that  I  shall  remain  for  a  while 
and  see  more  of  it." 

Ma  smiled  and  shook  her  head  at  the  other's  en- 
thusiasm. 

"  There's  a  heap  worth  living  for  out  here,  I  guess. 
But " 


THE  CAPITULATION  361 

"Yes.  I  know  what  you  would  say.  A  time 
comes  when  you  want  rest  for  mind  and  body.  I 
wonder,"  Mrs.  Rickards  went  on  thoughtfully,  "  if 
Seth  ever  wants  rest  and  peace?  I  don't  think  it. 
What  a  man  !  " 

She  relapsed  into  silent  admiration  of  the  man  of 
whom  she  was  speaking.  Ma  noted  her  look.  She 
understood  the  different  place  Seth  now  occupied  in 
this  woman's  thoughts. 

"  But  I  was  not  thinking  about  the  affairs  of  this 
farm  and  the  Indians  so  much  as  something  else," 
Mrs.  Rickards  went  on  presendy,  smiling  from  Ma 
to  Rube  and  back  again  at  Ma. 

The  farmwife  laid  her  knitting  aside.  She  under- 
stood the  other's  meaning,  and  this  was  the  first  men- 
tion of  it  between  them.  Even  Rube  had  turned  his 
head  and  his  deep-set  eyes  were  upon  the  "  fine 
lady." 

"Yes,  I  was  thinking  of  Seth  and  Rosebud,"  she 
went  on  earnestly.     "  You  know  that  Rosebud " 

Ma  nodded. 

"  Seth's  ter'ble  slow,"  she  said  slyly. 

"  Do  you  think  he's " 

"Sure."  The  two  women  looked  straight  into 
each  other's  eyes,  which  smiled  as  only  old  women's 
eyes  can  smile  when  they  are  speaking  of  that  which 
is  the  greatest  matter  of  their  lives. 

"  I  know  how  she  regards  him,"  Mrs.  Rickards 
went  on.  "  And  I  tell  you  frankly,  Mrs.  Sampson, 
I  was   cordially   opposed  to  it — when  I  came  here 


362      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

Even  now  I  am  not  altogether  sure  it's  right  by  the 
girl's  dead  father — but " 

"But ?"     Ma's  face   was  serious    tvhile   she 

waited  for  the  other  to  go  on. 

•'  But — but — well,  if  I  was  a  girl,  and  could  get 
such  a  man  as  Seth  for  a  husband,  I  should  be  the 
proudest  woman  in  the  land." 

"  An'  you'd  be  honored,"  put  in  Rube,  speaking 
for  the  first  time. 

Mrs.  Rickards  laughingly  nodded. 

Ma  sighed. 

"  Guess  Seth  has  queer  notions.  Mighty  queer. 
I  'low,  knowin'  him  as  I  do,  I  could  say  right  here 
that  that  boy  'ud  ask  her  right  off,  only  fer  her  friends 
an'  her  dollars.     He's  a  foolhead,  some." 

Mrs.  Rickards  laughed  again. 

"  In  England  these  things  are  usually  an  induce- 
ment," she  said  significantly. 

"  Seth's  a  man,"  said  Ma  with  some  pride.  "  Seth's 
real  honest,  an' — an',  far  be  it  for  me  to  say  it,  he's 
consequent  a  foolhead.  What's  dollars  when  folks 
love  ?  Pshaw !  me  an'  Rube  didn't  think  o'  no 
dollars." 

"  Guess  we  hadn't  no  dollars  to  think  of.  Ma," 
murmured  Rube  in  a  ponderous  aside. 

"  Wal  ?  An'  if  we  had  ?  "  Ma  smiled  defiantly  at 
her  **  old  man." 

"  Wal,  mebbe  we'd  'a'  tho't  of  'em." 

The  farmwife  turned  away  in  pretended  disgust. 

**  And  you  don't  think  anything  will  come  of  it  ? ' 


THE  CAPITULATION  363 

suggested  Mrs.  Rickards,  taking  the  opportunity  of 
returning  to  the  matter  under  discussion. 

Ma's  eyes  twinkled. 

"  Ther'  ain't  no  sayin',"  she  said.  "  Mebbe  it's  best 
left  to  Rosie."  She  glanced  again  at  her  sick  hus- 
band. "  Y'  see,  men  mostly  has  notions,  an'  some 
are  ter'ble  slow.  But  they're  all  li'ble  to  act  jest  so, 
ef  the  woman's  the  right  sort.  Guess  it  ain't  no  use 
in  old  folks  figgerin'  out  fer  young  folks.  The  only 
figgerin'  that  counts  is  what  they  do  fer  themselves." 

"I  believe  you're  right,"  responded  Mrs.  Rickards, 
wondering  where  the  farmwife  had  acquired  her  fund 
of  worldly  wisdom.  Ma's  gentle  shrewdness  over- 
shadowed any  knowledge  she  had  acquired  living 
the  ordinary  social  life  that  had  been  hers  in  England. 

Ma's  worldly  wisdom,  however,  was  all  on  the  sur- 
face. She  knew  Seth,  and  she  knew  Rosebud.  She 
had  watched  their  lives  with  loving  eyes,  prompted 
by  a  great  depth  of  sympathy.  And  all  she  had  seen 
had  taught  her  that  both  were  capable  of  managing 
their  own  affairs,  and,  for  the  rest,  her  optimism  in- 
duced the  belief  that  all  would  come  right  in  the  end. 
And  it  was  out  of  this  belief  she  reassured  her  new- 
made  friend. 

Meanwhile  the  little  blind  god  was  carrying  on  his 
campaign  with  all  the  cunning  and  crushing  strategy 
for  which  he  is  justly  renowned.  There  is  no  power 
such  as  his  in  all  the  world.  What  he  sets  out  to  do 
he  accomplishes  with  a  blissful  disregard  for  circum- 
stances.    Where  obstacles  refuse  to  melt  at  his  ad- 


364      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

vance,  he  adopts  the  less  comfortable,  but  none  the 
less  effective,  manner  of  breaking  through  them. 
And  perhaps  he  saw  the  necessity  of  some  such 
course  in  the  case  of  Seth  and  Rosebud.  Anyway, 
he  was  not  beaten  yet. 

The  last  of  the  refugees  had  left  the  farm.  Seth 
had  been  assisting  in  the  departure  of  the  various 
families.  It  was  a  sad  day's  work,  and  no  one  real- 
ized the  pathos  of  it  more  than  the  silent  plainsman. 
He  had  given  his  little  all  to  the  general  welfare,  but 
he  had  been  incapable  of  saving  the  homes  that  had 
been  built  up  with  so  much  self-denial,  so  much  thrift. 
All  he  could  do  was  to  wish  the  departing  folk  God- 
speed with  an  accompaniment  of  cheery  words, 
which,  perhaps,  may  have  helped  to  lighten  the 
burden  of  some  of  them.  The  burden  he  knew  w^as 
a  heavy  one  in  all  cases,  but  heavier  in  some  than 
others,  for  Death  had  claimed  his  toll,  and  at  such  a 
time  the  tax  fell  doubly  heavy. 

It  was  over.  He  had  just  seen  the  last  wagon 
drop  below  the  horizon.  Now  he  turned  away  with 
a  sigh  and  surveyed  the  ruin  around  him.  He 
walked  from  place  to  place,  inspecting  each  outbuild- 
ing with  a  measuring  eye.  There  were  weeks  of  la- 
bor before  him,  and  all  labor  that  would  return  no 
profit  It  was  a  fitting  conclusion  to  a  sad  day's 
work. 

But  he  was  not  given  to  morbid  sentiment,  and  as 
he  inspected  each  result  of  the  siege  he  settled  in  his 
mind  the  order  of  the  work  as  it  must  be  done.     A 


THE  CAPITULATION  365 

setback  like  this  had  only  a  stimulating  effect  on  his 
spirit.  The  summer  lay  before  him,  and  he  knew 
that  by  winter  he  could  have  everything  restored  to 
order. 

At  the  bam  he  made  the  horses  snug  for  the  night 
and  then,  taking  up  his  favorite  position  on  the  oat- 
bin   at  the   open   doorway,  lit  his   pipe  for  a  quiet 
think.     He  was  wholly  responsible  while  Rube  was 
ill. 

Sitting  there  in  the  golden  light  of  the  setting  sun, 
he  was  presently  disturbed  by  the  approach  of  light 
footsteps.  It  was  an  unusually  gay  voice  that  greeted 
him  when  he  looked  up,  and  eyes  that  were  brighter, 
and  more  deeply  violet  than  ever. 

Had  he  given  thought  to  these  things  he  might 
have  realized  that  there  was  something  artificial  in 
Rosebud's  manner,  something  that  told  of  unusual 
excitement  going  on  in  her  bosom.  But  then  Seth, 
with  all  his  keenness  in  other  things,  was  not  the 
cleverest  of  men  where  women  were  concerned. 
Ma's  opinion  of  him  was  wonderfully  accurate. 

"  Oh,  Seth,  I  just  came  to  tell  you  !  Fancy,  no 
sooner  is  one  excitement  over  than  another  begins. 
I've  just  learned  that  Pa  and  Ma  are  going  to  give 
up  this  farm.  We  are  going  further  west,  out  of  the 
Indian  territory,  and  Rube's  going  to  buy  a  new 
farm  near  some  city.  Just  fancy.  What  do  you 
think  of  it?" 

For  once  Seth  seemed  taken  aback.  His  usual  im- 
perturbable manner  forsook  him,  and  he  stared  at  the 


366      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

girl  in  unfeigned  astonishment.  This  was  the  last 
thing  he  had  expected. 

"  We're  quittin'  the  farm?  "  he  cried  incredulously. 

"  That's  precisely  it,"  Rosebud  nodded,  thoroughly 
enjoying  the  other's  blank  manner. 

"  Gee  1     I  hadn't  tho't  of  it." 

The  girl  broke  into  a  laugh,  and  Seth,  after  smiling 
faintly  in  response,  relapsed  into  serious  thought. 
Rosebud  eyed  him  doubtfully  for  some  moments. 

"  You're  not  glad,"  she  said  presently,  with  a  wise 
little  nod.  '*  You're  not  glad.  You  don't  want  to 
go.  You  love  this  place  and  what  you've  helped  to 
make  it.     I  know.     So  do  I." 

The  man  nodded,  and  his  dark  face  grew  graver. 

"  This  is  our  home,  isn't  it  ?  "  the  girl  continued, 
after  a  pause.  "Just  look  round.  There's  the  new 
barn.  I  remember  when  you  and  Pa  built  it.  I  used 
to  hold  the  wood  while  you  sawed,  and  made  you 
angry  because  I  always  tried  to  make  you  cut  it 
crooked — and  never  succeeded.  I  was  very  small 
then.  There's  the  old  barn»  We  use  it  for  cows 
now.  And  do  you  remember  when  you  pulled  down 
the  old  granary,  and  built  the  new  one  in  the  shape 
of  an  elevator  ?  And  do  you  remember,  Ma  wouldn't 
speak  to  us  for  a  whole  day  because  we  pulled  the  old 
hen-roost  to  pieces  and  established  the  hogs  there  ? 
She  said  it  was  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence  hav- 
ing the  smelly  old  things  so  near  the  house.  And 
now  we're  going  to  leave  it  all.  We're  farmers, 
aren't  we,  Seth  ?     But  Pa  is  going  in  for  cattle." 


THE  CAPITULATION  367 

"  Cattle  ?  "  exclaimed  Seth. 

"  Yes.  But  I'd  rather  that  than  another  grain 
farm  after  this  one.  I  don't  think  I  could  ever  like 
another  grain  farm  so  well  as  this." 

Rosebud  had  seated  herself  at  Seth's  feet,  with  her 
back  to  him  so  that  he  could  not  see  her  face.  She 
was  dressed  in  a  simple  dark  gown  that  made  her 
look  very  frail.  Her  golden  hair  was  arranged  in  a 
great  loose  knot  at  the  nape  of  her  neck  from  which 
several  unruly  strands  had  escaped.  Seth  noted 
these  things  even  though  his  eyes  wandered  from 
point  to  point  as  she  indicated  the  various  objects  to 
which  she  was  drawing  his  attention. 

"  Yes,  it  is  home,  sure,  Rosie,"  he  said  at  last,  as 
she  waited  for  his  answer.  "Yes,  it's  home,  sure. 
Yours  an'  mine." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Rosebud  leant  against 
Seth's  knees  ;  and  presently  she  raised  one  arm  till 
her  elbow  rested  upon  them.  Then  she  supported 
her  head  upon  her  hand. 

"  But  I  think  it's  right  to  go  ;  Ma  and  Rube  are 
getting  old.  They  want  rest.  Rube's  got  a  goodish 
bit  of  capital,  too,"  she  went  on,  with  an  almost 
childish  assumption  of  business  knowledge.  "  And 
so  have  you.  Now  how  much  will  buy  a  nice 
ranch?" 

The  girl  had  faced  round  and  was  gazing  up  into 
Seth's  face  with  all  the  bland  innocence  of  childhood 
in  her  wide  open  eyes.  The  gravity  she  beheld  there 
was  profound. 


368      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

*'Wal,  I'd  say  around  twenty  thousand  dollars 
Y'  see,  stockin'  it's  heavy.  But  Rube  wouldn't  think 
o*  that  much.  Mebbe  he'd  buy  a  goodish  place  an* 
raise  the  stock  himself.  I  'lows  it's  a  money-makin' 
game — is  stock.     It's  a  good  business." 

Seth  had  gained  some  enthusiasm  while  he  spoke, 
and  the  girl  was  quick  to  notice  the  change. 

"  I  believe  you're  beginning  to  fancy  the  notion," 
she  said,  with  a  bright  flash  of  her  eyes. 

"  Mebbe." 

Seth's  reply  was  half  shamefaced.  Rosebud  re- 
moved her  arm  from  his  knees  and  turned  away,  idly 
drawing  vague  outlines  upon  the  dusty  ground  with 
her  forefinger.  She  was  smiling  too.  It  was  partly 
a  mischievous  smile,  and  yet  there  was  something 
very  nervous  about  it.  She  was  thinking,  thinking, 
and  found  it  very  hard  to  say  what  she  wanted  to. 

"  I  wonder  if  you'd  help  me  to  do  something  I  want 
to  do  very  much?  "  she  asked  at  last.  "  Something 
very,  very  particular  ?  " 

"  Why,  sure,"  was  the  ready  answer.  "  That's 
how  it's  alius  bin." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  It's  always  been  like  that.  But 
this  is  something  much  harder."  Rosebud  smiled  a 
little  wistfully  into  the  strong  face  above  her. 

"  You  ken  gamble  on  me." 

"  Of  course  I  can.     I  know  that." 

Another  silence  fell.  The  girl  continued  to  draw 
outrageous  parallelograms  in  the  dust.  Seth  smoked 
on,  waiting  for  her.     The  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun 


THE  CAPITULATION  369 

were  shining  athwart  the  golden  head  which  his  dark 
eyes  were  contemplating. 

*'  You  see,  I  want  to  buy  Pa  and  Ma  the  finest 
ranch  in  Montana,"  she  said  at  last.  "  You  see,  I've 
got  lots  of  money,"  she  went  on,  laughing  nervously. 
"  At  least  I  shall  have.  I'm  rather  selfish,  too,  be- 
cause I'm  going  to  live  with  them,  always,  you  know. 
And  I'd  like  to  live  on  a  ranch.  Pa  could  own  it, 
and  you  could  be  foreman  and  partner.  And — and 
I  could  be  partner  too.  Quite  a  business  arrange- 
ment. Pa  and  you  would  work.  That's  your  share 
of  the  capital.  I  should  only  find  the  money,  and 
do  nothing.  You  see  ?  I  talked  it  over  with — 
er — some  one,  and  they  said  that  was  quite  a 
business  arrangement,  and  thought  I  was  rather 
clever." 

Seth  removed  his  pipe  and  cleared  his  throat. 
Rosebud  had  not  dared  to  look  at  him  while  putting 
forward  her  scheme.  Her  heart  was  beating  so 
loudly,  that  it  seemed  to  her  he  must  hear  it. 

"  Wal,"  he  said  slowly,  "  it's  not  a  bad  notion  in 
some  ways,  Rosie.  Ther's  jest  the  matter  o'  myself 
wrong.  I  'lows  you'd  make  a  han'some  return  to 
Rube  an'  Ma.  Guess  you  needn't  to  figger  on  m^ 
though.  I'll  stand  by  this  old  farm.  I  ken  work  it 
single-handed.  An'  I  kind  o'  notion  the  Injuns 
around  here  someways." 

"  But  we  couldn't  do  without  you." 

Seth  shook  his  head.  As  she  beheld  the  move- 
ment. Rosebud's  lips  quivered,  and  a  little  impatient 


370      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

frown  drew  her  brows  together.  She  felt  like  shak- 
ing  him  for  his  stupidity. 

"  Well,  I'm  just  going  to  do  it,  Seth.  And — and 
I'm  sorry  I  said  anything  to  you  about  it.  I  shall 
buy  it  for  Rube  without  telling  him.  And  you'll 
help  me  ?  " 

"  Sure." 

"  Quite  sure  ?  " 

**  Nothin'  more  certain." 

The  girl's  impatience  had  passed.  A  demure 
smile  had  replaced  the  frown,  as  she  stared  out  at 
the  flaming  western  sky.  Presently  she  went  on 
with  a  great  assumption  of  calmness. 

"  I'm  in  a  bit  of  a  difificulty,  though.  You  see,  1 
want  to  do  the  thing  at  once,  and  I  can't  because  1 
haven't  got  the  money  yet.  I  w^ant  to  know  if  there 
isn't  some  means  of  arranging  it.  You  see  I  only 
have  a  certain  income  at  present.  Later  on,  I  shall 
get  the  whole  fortune.  It's  that  silly  business  about 
getting  it  when  I'm  married.  And,  of  course,  I'm 
not  married  yet,  am  I  ?  " 

"  No." 

Rosebud  felt  a  desperate  desire  to  run  away.  But 
she  had  never  realized  how  difficult  Seth  was  before. 
His  uncompromising  directness  was  enough  to  upset 
any  one,  she  told  herself. 

"  Well,  I  must  raise  the  money  now.  You  see. 
now." 

"Can't  be  done.  You  see,  the  dollars  ain't  yours 
till    you    marry.     Mebbe    they'll    never    be    yours 


THE  CAPITULATION  371 

Mebbe  you  won't  never  marry.  I  gness  every 
female  don't  alius  marry.  No,  can't  be  done,  I 
guess." 

"  No — o.  I  never  looked  at  it  like  that  before. 
No.  The  money  isn't  mine,  is  it?  So,  of  course,  I 
can't  do  it.     Oh,  Seth,  I  am  disappointed  ! " 

The  girl's  face  had  dropped,  and  there  was  some- 
thing almost  tragic  in  her  tone.  Seth  heard  the  tone 
and  it  smote  his  heart,  and  made  him  long  to  take 
her  in  his  arms  and  comfort  her.  He  hated  himself 
for  what  he  had  said. 

"  Why,  little  Rosie,"  he  said  gently,  "  I  was  only 
Jest  lookin'  straight  at  it.  Guess  them  dollars  is 
yours.     It's  jest  a  question  o'  gettin'  married." 

The  girl  had  turned  away  again.  The  sky  was 
fast  darkening,  and  a  deep  grayness  was  spreading 
from  the  east.  And  now,  without  turning,  she  said 
quietly  — 

"Yes,  I  must  get  married.  But  there's  no  one 
wants  to  marry  me." 

Seth  drew  a  deep  breath  and  stirred  uneasily. 

There  was  another  long  pause  while  Rosebud  sat 
silently  and  unconsciously  listening  to  the  thumping 
of  her  own  heart,  and  Seth  tried  hopelessly  to  re- 
light a  pipe  in  which  all  the  tobacco  had  burnt  out. 

Suddenly  Rosebud  faced  round.  The  growing 
darkness  concealed  the  deep  flush  which  had  now 
taken  possession  of  her  cheeks,  and  spread  even  to 
brow  and  throat. 

"But  I  do  want  that  monev,  Seth,"  she  said  in  a 


372       THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

low    tone,     "And — and — you   said — you    promised 
you  would  help  me." 

There  was  a  sharp  sound  of  an  empty  pipe  falling 
to  the  ground.  Two  strong  rough  hands  were  sud- 
denly thrust  out  and  rested  in  a  steady  grasp  upon 
the  girl's  rounded  shoulders.  They  slid  their  way 
upward  until  her  soft  cheeks  were  resting  in  their 
palms. 

Rosebud  felt  her  face  lifted  until  she  found  herself 
gazing  into  the  man's  dark  eyes  which,  in  the  dark- 
ness, were  shining  with  a  great  love  light.  Her  lids 
drooped  before  such  passionate  intensity.  And  her 
heart  thrilled  with  rapture  as  she  listened  to  his 
rough,  honest  words. 

*'  Little  Rosie,  gal,  you  don't  jest  know  what  you're 
savin'.  I  hadn't  meant  to,  sure,  but  now  I  can't  jest 
help  it.  My  wits  seem  somehow  gone,  an'  I  don't 
guess  as  you'll  ever  forgive  me.  Ther's  only  one 
way  I  ken  help  you,  little  gal.  'Tain't  right.  'Tain't 
honest,  I  know,  but  I  guess  I'm  weak-kneed  'bout 
things  now.  I  love  you  that  bad  I  jest  want  to 
marry  you.  Guess  I've  loved  you  right  along.  I 
loved  you  when  I  picked  you  up  in  these  arms  nigh 
seven  years  ago.  I  loved  you  when  I  bandaged  up 
that  golden  head  o'  yours.  An'  I've  loved  you — 
ever  since.  Rosie,  gal,  I  jest  don't  know  what  I'm 
sayin'.  How  ken  I  ?  I'm  daft — jest  daft  wi'  love  of 
you.  I've  tried  to  be  honest  by  you.  I've  tried  to 
do  my  duty  by  you — but  I  jest  can't  no  longer,  'cos 
I  love  you " 


THE  CAPITULATION  373 

But  he  abruptly  released  her,  and  blindly  groped 
on  the  ground  for  his  pipe.  He  had  suddenly 
realized  that  his  actions,  his  words  were  past  all 
forgiveness. 

He  did  not  find  his  pipe.  Rosebud  was  kneeling 
now,  and,  as  he  stooped,  his  head  came  into  contact 
with  hers.  In  an  instant  his  arms  were  about  her 
slight  figure,  and  he  was  crushing  her  to  his  breast 
in  a  passionate  embrace. 

*'  Oh,  God  !  I  love  you,  Rosie  ! "  he  cried,  with 
all  the  pent-up  passion  of  years  finding  vent  in  the 
exclamation. 

Her  face  was  raised  to  his ;  his  lips  sought  hers, 
soft  and  warm.  He  kissed  her  again  and  again. 
He  had  no  words.  His  whole  soul  was  crying  out 
for  her.  She  was  his,  and  he  was  holding  her  in  his 
arms.  Cost  what  it  might  afterward  she  was  his 
for  this  one  delirious  moment. 

But  the  moment  passed  all  too  swiftly.  Reason 
returned  to  him,  and  his  arms  dropped  from  about 
her  as  he  realized  the  enormity  of  his  offence. 

"  Child— little  Rosie,"  he  cried  brokenly,  "  I'm 
crazy  !     What — what  have  I  done  ? " 

But  Rosebud  did  not  go  from  him  as  he  had  ex- 
pected she  would.  She  did  not  stir.  Her  face  was 
hidden  from  him,  and  he  could  not  see  the  anger  he 
expected  to  read  there.  She  answered  him.  And 
her  answer  was  meek — very,  very  humble. 

"You've  let  go  of  me,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"  And — and  I  was  so  comfortable — so — so — happy !  " 


374      THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 

"  Happy  ?  "  reechoed  Seth. 

She  was  in  his  arms  again.  Night  had  fallen  and 
all  was  still.  No  words  were  spoken  between  them 
for  many  minutes.  Those  rapturous  moments  were 
theirs  alone,  none  could  see,  none  could  know.  At 
length  it  was  Rosebud  who  looked  up  from  the  pillow 
of  his  breast.  Her  lovely  eyes  were  shining  even  in 
the  darkness. 

"  Seth — dear — you  will  help  me  ?  You  will  be  my 
— partner  in  the  ranch  ?  " 

And  the  man's  answer  came  with  a  ring  of  deep 
happiness  in  his  voice. 

"  Yes,  Rosie,  gal — if  you'll  make  it  partners  for — 
life." 

Somehow  when  he  came  to  look  back  on  these 
moments  Seth  never  quite  realized  how  it  all  came 
about — this  wondrous  happiness  that  was  his.  But 
then — yes,  perhaps,  he  was  "  ter'ble  slow,"  as  Ma 
Sampson  had  said. 


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Alton  of  Somasco,    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

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Andrew  The  Glad.     By  Maria  Thompson  Daviess. 

Ann  Boyd.   By  Will   X.  Harben. 

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Ben  Blair.     By  Will  Lillibridge. 

Betrayal,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Better  Man,  The.     By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 

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Bronze  Eagle,  The.     By  Baroness  Orczy. 

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Conspirators,  The.     By  Robt.  W.  Chambers. 

Coimsel  for  the  Defense.     By  Leroy  Scott. 

Court  of  Inquiry,  A.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Crime  Doctor,  "The.     By  E.  W.  Hornung 

Crimson  Gardenia,  The,  and  Other  Tales  of  Adventure.    By 

Rex  Beach. 
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Desired  Woman,  The.     By  Will  N.  Harben. 
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Dixie  Hart.     By  Will  N.  Harben. 
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El  Dorado.     By  Baroness  Orczy. 

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Empty  Pockets.     By  Rupert  Hughes. 

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Eye  of  Dread,  The.    By  Payne  Erskine. 

Eyes  of  the  World,  The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Felix  O'Day.     By  F.  Hopkinson  Smith. 

50-40  or  Fight.     By  Emerson  Hough. 

Fighting  Chance,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Financier,  The.     By  Theodore  Dreiser. 

Flamsted  Quarries.     By  Mary   E.   Waller. 

Flying  Mercury,  The.     By  Eleanor  M.  Ingrarn. 

For  a  Maiden  Brave.    By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss. 

Four  Million,  The.     By  O.  Henry. 

Four  Pool's  Mystery,  The.     By  Jean  Webster. 

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Get-Rich-Quick  Wallingford.     By  George  Randolph  Chester. 

Gilbert  Neal.     Rv  Will  X.  Harben. 

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Cook. 
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Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man.     By  Frank  L.  Packard. 

Greyfriars  Bobby.     By  Eleanor  Atkinson. 

Guests  of  Hercioles,  The.    By  C.  N.  &  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Halcyone.     By  Elinor  Glyn. 

Happy  Island  (Sequel  to  Uncle  William).  By  Jeannette  Lee, 

Havoc.      By   E.   Phillips   Oppenheim. 

Heart  of  Philura,  The.    By  Florence  Kingsley. 

Heart  of  the  Desert,  The.    By  Honore  Willsie. 

Heart  of  the  Hills,  The.    By  John  Fox,  Jr. 

Heart  of  the  Simset.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Heart  of  Thimder  Mountain,  The.    By  Elf  rid  A.  Bingham. 

Heather-Moon,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson  . 

Her  Weight  in  Gold.    By  Geo.  B.  McCutcheon. 

Hidden  Children,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Hoosier  Volimteer,  The.    By  Kate  and  Virgil  D.  Boyles. 

Hopalong  Cassidy.    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

How  Leslie  Loved.     By  Anne  Warner. 

Hugh  Wynne,  Free  Quaker.    By  S.  Weir  Mitchell,  M.D. 

Husbands  of  Edith,  The.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon, 

I  Conquered.     By  Harold  Titus. 

Illustrious  Prince,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Idols.    By  William  J.  Locke. 

Indifference  of  Juliet,  The.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Inez.     (111.  Ed.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Infelice.     By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

In  Her  Own  Right.     By  John  Reed  Scott. 

Initials  Only.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

In  Another  Girl's  Shoes.    3y  Berta  Ruck. 

Inner  Law,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Innocent.     By  Marie  Corelli. 

Insidious  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  The.     By  Sax  Rohmer. 

In  the  Brooding  Wild.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Intrigues,  The.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Iron  Trail,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Iron  Woman.  The.     By  Margaret  Deland. 

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Japonette.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Jean  of  the  Lazy  A>.     By  B.  M.  Bower. 

Jeanne  of  the  Marshes.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Jennie  Gerhardt.     By  Theodore  Dreiser. 

Joyful  Heatherby.    By  Payne  Erskine. 

Jude  the  Obscure.    By  Thomas  Hardy. 

Judgment  House,  The.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Keeper  of  the  Door,  The.     By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Keith  of  the  Border.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Kent  Knowles:  Quahaug.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

King  Spruce.     By   Uolman  Day. 

Kingdom  of  Earth,  The.    By  Anthony  Partridge. 

Knave  of  Diamonds,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Lady  and  the  Pirate,  The.     By  Emerson  Hough. 

Lady  Merton,  Colonist.     By  Mrs.  Hum.phrey  Ward. 

Landloper,  The.     By  Holman  Day. 

Land  of  Long  Ago,  The.    By  Eliza  Calvert  Hall. 

Last  Try,  The.     By  John  Reed  Scott. 

Last  Shot,  The.     By  Erederick  N.  Palmer. 

Last  Trail,  The.     By  Zane  Grey. 

Laughing  Cavalier,  The.     By  Baroness  Orczy. 

Law  Breakers,  The.      By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Lighted  Way,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Lighting  Conductor  Discovers  America,  The.      By  C.  N.  & 

A.    X.   Williamson. 
Lin  McLean.    By  Owen  Wister. 

Little  Brown  Jug  at  Kildare,  The.    By  Meredith  Nicholson. 
Lone  Wolf,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Long  Roll,  The.     By  Mary  Johnson. 

Lonesome  Land.     By  B.   M.   Bower.  ,    »     w 

Lord   Loveland   Discovers   America.      By   C.    N.  and   A.   M. 

Williamson. 
Lost  Ambassador.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Lost  Prince,  The.    By  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett. 
Lost  Road,  The.    By  Richard  Harding  Davis. 
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Maid  of  the  Whispering  Hills,  The.     By  Vingie  E.  Roe. 

Making  of  Bobby  Burnit,  The.    By  Randolph  Chester. 

Making  Money.  Bv  Owen  Johnson. 

Mam'  Linda.     By  "Will  N.  Harben. 

Man  Outside,  The.    By  Wyndham  Martyn. 

Man  Trail,  The.     By  Henry  Oyen. 

Marriage.     By  H.  G.  Wells. 

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Mary  Moreland.     By  Alarie  Van  Vorst. 

Master  Mummer,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Max.     By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 

Maxwell  Mystery,  The.    By  Caroline  Wells. 

Mediator,  The.    By  Roy  Norton. 

Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Mischief  Maker,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Miss  Gibbie  Gault.    Bj-^  Kate  Langley  Bosher. 

Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown.    By  Florence  Morse  Kingsley. 

Molly  McDonald.  By  Randall  Parrish. 

Money  Master,  The.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Money  Moon.  The.    By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

Motor  Maid,  The.    By  C.  N  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Moth,  The.    By  William  Dana  Orcutt. 

Mountain  Girl,  The.     By  Payne  Erskine. 

Mr.  Bingle.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Mr.  Grex  of  Monte  Carlo.     By  E.  PhiUips  Oppenheim. 

Mr.  Pratt.     By  Joseph  C  Lincoln. 

Mr.  Pratt's  Patients.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mrs.  Balfame.      By  Gertrude  .Atherton. 

Mrs.  Red  Pepper.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

My  Demon  Motor  Boat    By  George  Fitch. 

My  Friend  the  Chauffeur.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson 

My  Lady  Caprice.    By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

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My  Lady  of  the  North,     By  Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  the  South.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

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Nobody.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Once  Upon  a  Time.    By  Richard  Harding  Davis. 
One  Braver  Thing.     By  Richard  Dehan. 
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Passionate  Friends,  The.     By  H.  G.  Wells. 

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Paul  Anthony,  Christian.     By  Hiram  W.  Hayes. 

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Pidgin  Island.     By  Harold  MacGrath. 

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Plunderer,  The.     By  Roy  Norton. 

Pole  Baker.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Pool  of  Flame,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

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Postmaster,  The.      By  Joseph   C.   Lincoln. 

Power  and  the  Glory,  The.    By  Grace  McGowan  Cooke. 

Prairie  Wife,  The.     By  Arthur  Stringer. 

Price  of  Love,  The.    By  Arnold  Bennett. 

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Prince  of  Sinners.    By  A.  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

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Promise,  The.     By  J.  B.  Hendryx. 

Purple  Parasol,  The.    By  Geo.  B.  McCutcheon. 

Ranch  at  the  Wolverine,  The.     By  B.   M.   Bower. 
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Redemption  of  Kenneth  Gait,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Red  Lane,  The.    By  Holman  Day. 

Red  Mouse.  The.    By  Wm.  Hamilton  Osborne. 

Red  Pepper  Bums.    By  Grace  S,  Richmond. 

Rejuvenation  of  Aunt  Mary,  The.    By  Anne  Warner. 

Return  of  Tarzan,  The.    By  Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 

Riddle  of  Night,  The.     By  Thomas  W.  Hanshew. 

Rim  of  the  Desert,  The.    By  Ada  Woodruff  Anderson. 

Rise  of  Roscoe  Paine,  The.    By  J.  C.  Lincoln. 

Road  to  Ptovidence,  The.    By  Maria  Thompson  Daviess. 

Robinetta.    By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin. 

Rocks  of  Valpre,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

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Rose  of  the  World.    By  Agnes  and  Egerton  Castle. 

Rose  of  Old  Harpeth,  The.    By  Maria  Thompson  Daviess 

Round  the  Corner  in  Gay  Street.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Routledge  Rides  Alone.    By  Will  L.  Comfort. 

St.  Elmo.    (111.  Ed.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 
Salamander,  The.    By  O-wen  Johnson. 
Scientific  Sprague.    By  Francis  Lynde. 
Second  Violin,  The.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Secret  of  the  Reef,  The.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Secret  History.     By  C.  N.  &  A.  M.  Williamson. 
Self-Raised.    (111.)     By  Mrs.  Southworth. 
Septimus.     By  William  J.  Locke. 
Set  in  Silver.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 
Seven  Darlings,  The.    By  Gouverneur  Morris. 
Shea  of  the  Irish  Brigade.    By  Randall  Parrish. 
Shepherd  of  the  HiUs,  The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright, 
Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Sign  at  Six,  The.     By  Stevk^art  Edvk^.  White. 
Silver  Horde,  The.     By  Rex   Beach. 
Simon  the  Jester.    By  William  J.  Locke. 
Siren  of  the  Snows,  A.     By  Stanley  Shaw. 
Sir  Richard  Calmady.     By  Lucas  Malet. 
Sixty-First  Second,  The.     By  Owen  Johnson, 
Slim  Princess,  The.    By  George  Ade. 


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Soldier  of  the  Legion,  A.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 
Somewhere  in  France.     By  Richard  Harding  Davis. 
Speckled  Bird,  A.     By  Augusta   Evans   Wilson. 
-Spirit  in  Prison,  A.     V>y  Robert  Hichens. 
Spirit  of  the  Border,  The.    By  Zane  Grey. 
Splendid  Chance,  The.      By  Mary   Hastings  Bradley. 
Spoilers,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 
Spragge's  Canyon.  By  Horace  Annesley  Vachell. 
Still  Jim.    Bv  Honore  Willsie. 

Story  of  Fos's  River  Ranch,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Story  of  Marco,  The.     By  Eleanor  H.  Porter. 
Strange  Disappearance,  A.    By  Anna  Katherine  Green. 
Strawberry  Acres.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Streets  of  Ascalon,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Simshine  Jane.     By  Anne  Warner. 
Susan    Clegg    and    Her    Friend    Mrs.    Lathrop.      By    Anne 

Warner. 
Sword  of  the  Old  Frontier,  A.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Tales  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Taming  of  Zenas  Henry,  The.     By  Sara  Ware  Bassett. 

Tarzan  of  the  Apes.     By  Edgar  R.  Burroughs. 

Taste  of  Apples,  The.     By  Jennette  Lee. 

Tempting  of  Tavernake,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles.     By  Thomas  Hardy. 

Thankful  Inheritance.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

That  Affair  Next  Door.     By  -Xnna  Katharine  Green. 

That  Printer  of  Udell's.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Their  Yesterdays.     By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

The  Side  of  the  Angels.     By  Basil  King. 

Throwback,  The.     ?.y  Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 

Thurston  of  Orchard  Valley.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

To  M.  L.  G.;  or,  He  Who  Passed.    By  Anon. 

Trail  of  the  Axe,  The.     By  Ridewell  Cullum. 

Trail  of  Yesterday,  The.      By   Chas.  A.   Seltzer. 

Treasure  of  Heaven,  The.     By  Marie  Corelli. 

Truth  Dexter.     By   Sidney  McCall. 

T.  Tembarom.     By  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett. 

Tu«bulent  Duchess,  The.    By  Percy  J.  Brebner. 


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Twenty-fourth  of  June,  The.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Twins  of  Suffering  Creek,  The.    By  Ridgwell  CuUum. 
Two-Gun  Man,  The.     By  Charles  A.  Seltzer. 

Uncle  William,      By  Jeannette  Lee. 

Under  the  Country  Sky.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Unknown  Mr.  Kent,  The.     By  Roy  Norton. 

"Unto  Caesar."    By  Baronett  Orczy. 

Up  From  Slavery.    By  Booker  T.  Washington. 

Valiants  of  Virginia,  The.    By  Hallie  Erminie  Rives. 

Valley  of  Fear,  The.    By  Sir  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Vane   of  the   Timberlands,      By    Harold    Bindloss. 

Vanished  Messenger,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Vashti.     By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Village  of  Vagabonds,  A.    By  F.  Berkley  Smith. 

Visioning,  The.     By  Susan  Glaspell. 

V/all  of  Men,  A.     By  Margaret  H.  McCarter. 

Wallingford  in  His  Prime.     By  George   Randolph   Chester. 

Wanted — A  Chaperon.      By  Paul   Leicester   Ford. 

Wanted — A   Matchmaker,      By    Paul    Leicester    Ford. 

Watchers  of  the  Plains,  The.      By  Ridgwell   CuUum. 

Way    Home,   The.      By    Basil    King. 

Way  of  an  Eagle,   The.      By   E.   M.   Dell. 

Way  of  a  Man,  The.     By  Emerson   Hough. 

Way   of  the   Strong,  The.      By   Ridgwell    Cullum. 

Way  of  These  Women,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Weavers,    The.       By    Gilbert    Parker. 

West   Wind,   The.      By    Cyrus   T.    Brady. 

When    Wilderness    Was    King.       By    Randolph    Parrish. 

Where   the    Trail    Divides.       By   Will    Lillibridge. 

Where   There's   a   Will.      By    Mary   R.    Rinehart. 

White  Sister,  The.     By  Marion   Crawford. 

White  Waterfall,  The.     By  James  Francis   Dwyer. 

Who    Goes    There?       By    Robert    W.    Chambers. 

Window  at  the  White  Cat,  The.  Bv  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Winning  of  Barbara  Worth,  The.     By  Harold   Bell  Wright. 

Winning  the  Wilderness.     By  Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

With  Juliet  in  England.     By  Grace  S.   Richmond. 

Witness  for  the  Defense,  The.     By  A.  E.  W.   Mason. 


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